


Enchanted Evenings

by ConstantCommentTea



Series: The Interaction Series [5]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angel is not such a terrible role model, Angel/Cordelia-ish shipping but not really shipping, Awkward Sexual Situations, But not with the comics, Choices, Conversation Porn, Fairy Tale Curses, Future Fic, Gen, If You Speak Irish Please Advise, Ignore it if you don't like it but it's there if you do, In that there's lots of personal and deep conversation. Lots., Like they're there but not super-overtly, Mentions of sex and romance but this isn't that kind of story, Might Be Some Shoddy Irish Translations, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Properly tagging ships is surprisingly difficult, as canon compliant as possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-08-28 17:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 77,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantCommentTea/pseuds/ConstantCommentTea
Summary: There's a mission, and it's not for Angel. Which is good, because that's exactly what he wanted, right? Also featured: mother issues and a pressing need to rescue people's feet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This story is part of the _Interaction_ series, so if this is your first story in the series, know that there’s lots of character and event background to this one. But go ahead and read it: I did my best to give context and history in the story so that it can be read on its own. Also, this story ended up establishing lots of context for stories to come, so you’re actually coming in at a good place, all things considered…
> 
> It follows, obviously, that there are spoilers to the story before this one: _The Heart of Human Interaction_ , both emotionally and plot-wise.
> 
> And a huge thank you to those of you who have waited patiently for this story! Enchanted Evenings was clogging up the posting works, so after this there will be a flood of others behind it. I really appreciate your kind words, enthusiasm, and support, and I hope you enjoy the ride that's to come!
> 
> Love to all and thanks so much for reading!

**Prologue**

Once upon a time on the western coast of the Emerald Isle, on a fair day in early spring when all the wholesome and hardworking folk of the city were going about their normal business, other folk were going about their business, too. This one to see about fixing his violin, that one to buy a roast, and her to find a decent pair of dancing shoes.

The shopkeeper who minded the shoes and the sales thereof was an honest woman of moderate means and a spirit of gold and fire. She enjoyed matching her customers with their perfectly-fitting pairs of shoes in both size and style, and was never hesitant to tell a customer when a pair was simply wrong or ill-looking.

One fine day a fair maiden of the Gentlefolk in search of dancing shoes entered this shop and the shopkeeper proclaimed the pair of dancing shoes that the fair young woman tried on perfect in fit, but merely “near perfect” in style because the red of the shoe clashed with the red of the woman’s hair, and mightn’t the black be better? Enraged, the fair young woman left the store, flicking her long, slender fingers in fury as she did.

And so, once upon a time, there was shop called _Enchanted Evenings_ which was cursed and all of those who found a perfect fit were cursed as well, and there was great bloodshed and tears among the good people of the town.

* * *

**Chapter One**

In all honesty, Angel thought that the process of learning to drive a modern car and getting a modern driver’s license was a complete joke; an utter waste of time for both teacher and student, and worse: a total lack of respect for the art and skill of handling fast-moving vehicles.

He hadn’t been meaning to mention this to the student driver next to him, but then the car suddenly braked for a stop sign that William had missed while looking for crossing pedestrians, it just came out.

“I mean, it does _everything_ for you! Why don’t they just let 4-year-olds drive themselves to preschool?”

“Thanks, Angel,” William grumbled as he started through the intersection.

They were driving through one of the outer Galway neighborhoods north of the city in one of the driving school’s rented student cars because there was no way in hell Angel would let William use his far-too-expensive French luxury car he’d named _A Mhuirnín_. In Irish the name meant “My Dear,” and he’d chosen it ostensibly because it fit and was beautifully simple. Secretly, it was because it reminded him of Darla.

William had finished all his prerequisites for taking the driving test except for the number of supervised nighttime hours he needed to log. It was formality, mostly. The law required licensed drivers to be able to drive a “manual” (that is, not self-driving) car, since most cars had the option to switch between manual and automatic. Still, manual settings came with standard safety programs for emergencies like teenagers forgetting to stop at an empty intersection.

Angel had (illegally) gotten his bribable mechanic to turn those safety features off in his car.

So William needed nighttime driving hours and he had asked Angel to supervise, tired of his mother’s minutely detailed corrections and the driving instructor’s bored and surly, “That’s fine. Turn left. Forgot the blinker” lessons.

And Angel had agreed for the change from regular lessons. “Regular,” being, of course, relative. In their case, demon-fighting, swordsmanship, and Latin were as regular as they got.

Angel gave William an apologetic sideways glance. “That’s not what I -  I’m just saying I don’t get why you need all these hours of practice when the car will fix all your mistakes for you.”

“Computers are smart,” William agreed, “but not smart enough to counter the stupidity of every human error.”

Angel chuckled. “Did you come up with that?”

“No, my driving teacher,” William admitted. “But it’s still true. Accidents still happen. Oh! That’s our friend Sanja’s house.” He pointed to a large brick house to their left, out Angel’s passenger window, that was fenced in with ivy-covered brick walls. Through the wrought iron gate, they could see a fountain in the courtyard as they passed it. “Her dad’s an international businessman or something, right Cal?”

Calder glanced up from his Palm in the back seat. He had elected not to learn to drive, not really seeing the point in adding another course when public transit was both easy and efficient. William had said it would be good to learn ‘just in case’ and Calder had replied “just in case what? It’s not like I’m moving to the country.” Calder was tagging along now because they’d picked him up at home for a very roundabout ride to a classmate’s party.

“I don’t know,” Calder replied about Sanja’s father. “Something that makes him rich.”

Angel _hmm_ -ed in acknowledgement, turning back to the front after they passed the large house. He had thought about moving to a bigger place again, missing the vast inside space of the Hyperion, and even the Wolfram & Hart office in L.A. But he’d already invested a lot into making his small flat home (financially - wood was not cheap), and now after buying _A Mhuirnín_ and with the expense of keeping Connor at St. Anthony’s Retirement Home, he could hardly afford car insurance payments, let alone a bigger place. Besides, it would mean moving further away from Connor.

Now that he was thinking about it… “Want to take me to St. Anthony’s on the way there?” Angel asked. It was early spring and the sun still set early, so nighttime wasn’t prohibitively late from visiting a 230-year-old and hoping to catch him awake.

“Sure,” William agreed. “But that’s not at all on the way there.”

“Wait, how long are you going to be?” Calder asked from the back. “We’re already late and Talia Malan’s supposed to be there.”

“Not long,” Angel replied. “I just want to see him before he goes to bed. Not that I don’t understand that getting you a date is way more important than my son...”

Calder whacked Angel’s upper arm with the back of his hand a notch beyond playfully hard. “It’s no fair using your kid as a guilt trip, Angel. I’m pretty sure that counts as ‘bad parenting’.”

“I have extenuating circumstances,” Angel told him. “Plus like eight years to catch up on when I couldn’t use him as a guilt trip at all.”

“That’s your own fault for not telling us about him,” Calder replied. “No sympathy.”

“He’s right, Angel,” William agreed. “No sympathy.”

Angel crossed his arms over his chest and instinctively braced himself as another stop sign approached, but William saw it this time. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Take us to your damn party, then. Make the 462-year-old _walk_ to the retirement home.”

“No sympathy,” the boys chorused.

* * *

The party was in full swing by the time they got there, thumping music audible from outside where they bid farewell to Angel. They left the car down the street, out of the way until its curfew kicked in and it would drive itself back to the school’s lot. Calder asked William to check his hair in the back to make sure it still looked okay, and they went into the small townhouse, dark and packed almost to bursting with teenagers and the smell of alcohol.

It was Jodie Dempsey’s house party - her mother had gone out of town and her father had passed a few months before, and as she said in the mass text that went out to their whole class, she deserved to let loose a bit.

“Let loose” was a bit of an understatement. She was already hammered when William and Calder closed the door behind them, looking up at the shouts of delight from the friends that noticed them, and stumbled over, cup of beer in hand, laughing and kissing their cheeks.

“In there!” she shouted over the music, gesturing back toward the kitchen so emphatically that her long dirty blonde ponytail whipped in her face. “Keg stand contest later, okay? Thanks for coming!” And then she danced off to join another group of people in the living room, her artfully-cut t-shirt slipping off one shoulder.

Calder turned to grin at William, who grinned back, and they started making their way toward the kitchen, getting stopped now and then by friends, and were told by each of them they needed to go get drinks.

“Sanja brought _vodka_ ,” Jamina Porter told them with a wickedly delighted gleam in her eye. “You have to kiss her if you want a shot.”

“ _Have_ to?” William said, raising his eyebrows.

“I know!” Jamina agreed. “Only thing is, she has to like it.”

“Hey, Jamina,” Calder said, glancing around, “is Talia Malan here tonight?”

“Yeah, I think she’s by the speakers…”

Calder thanked her and asked William to get him a beer, peeling off to go find Talia and screwing up his courage. They had made out once already in a deserted school hallway last week, and though they had barely spoken since then, Calder had felt something stirring in the pit of his stomach that was more than just the excitement of the moment. He had felt it every time they caught eyes in the halls or passed by each other, too busy on their way to the next activity to talk. And if the spark in her eye was any indication, she felt it too.

Talia was on the debate team, which just made finding the right words to convince her to go out with him that much more intimidating. Calder found sudden, overcome kissing much easier to handle than words, but really, he reasoned, the words were a formality. Something to make it official. He could think of no reason why she’d say no to a holo next week (and maybe making out again after), but his palms still sweated as he scanned the people closest to the booming speakers through the darkness and flashing lights.

His eyes skirted past the couple snogging in the corner because it didn’t occur to him that could be Talia. It was on his second pass that he noticed the glint of rings running through hair, and he remembered liking the way Talia’s rings had rubbed against his scalp. The couple’s heads turned and Calder’s stomach dropped.

Talia Malan was snogging Pete Dyer.

 _Pete Dyer_ , who was very publicly on record as stating that debating was nothing more than mental masturbation, which made the debate team mental strippers.

Calder’s hands curled into fists. The kiss broke for a second and Calder could see Talia’s tongue slip back into her own mouth.

Calder’s first instinct was to deck Pete Dyer right there. Calder fought _vampires_ : he was afraid of no one at school, and everyone knew it. Many people were afraid of him _because_ of it. Calder was not a bully, but everyone knew he could take the bullies, if they dared to try something.

But when Angel had agreed to train Calder how to fight, he made him swear not to abuse that power, tempting as it would sometimes be.

_With great power comes great responsibility. I think. Or something. Isn’t that how it goes? Anyway, if you’re going to be powerful, Calder, you have to also be honorable._

And Calder had listened, partly because Angel drilled it into him (more than he drilled it into William, Calder noticed), and partly because Calder respected Angel.

So Calder chose his second impulse.

Fists unclenching, he wheeled around and pushed his way into the crowded kitchen. It was brighter in there, so it was easy to find Sanja Renato perched on the kitchen table, surrounded by a group of people - including William - and laughing in delight at the attention around her. Sanja had gotten her handsome Spanish looks from her father, but her love of attention from her mother. Calder didn’t know of anyone from school who had been to the Renato’s house and _not_ been flirted with by Mrs. Renato.

Calder shouldered his way up to her and her laughter trailed off as she looked at him, her lips forming a coy smile and dark eyes tracking Calder slowly down and back up again. “Looking for a shot?” she asked. “It’ll cost you, and I’m not giving it to just anyone.”

Calder straightened his shoulders. “How much do I get if I make out with you?”

The entire group _oooooooo_ ’d in unison and someone whistled while someone else shouted that Joey Jones had tried asking that already.

Sanja’s eyebrows went up and she laughed. “That depends on how good you are.”

Calder shrugged. “I guess if I’m really bad everyone’ll know, won’t they?”

Sanja appraised him. Then she turned and handed the bottle of half-drunk vodka to Emma McCurdy for safekeeping, spread her knees apart, and tapped the edge of the table where her skirt barely draped and said, “Come on, then,” among more whistles and cheers.

Taking a deep breath, Calder stepped up between her legs, put his hands on her hips, and kissed her.

Calder had also learned from Angel that when it came to women, the key was to go slow. That if he wanted to get anywhere, he had to wait for signals. Calder’s anger and hormones urged him (very very strongly) to take over the moment and his brain reminded him of that lesson when, instead of teaching them Latin, Calder had gotten Angel to teach them about girls.

 _Don’t be desperate. Don’t be pushy. And for god’s sake, don’t start with tongue. Save_ _something_ _for later._

Calder pushed harder and deepened the kiss, sliding his hands under Sanja’s shirt and his tongue into her mouth.

Whatever, he was tried to make a point, right? Talia would _definitely_ be hearing about this before the night was over.

People _oooooo_ ’d again and whooped. Sanja’s legs tightened around his hips and she bit his tongue lightly. They adjusted, Calder pulling her closer and running his thumbs a little higher over the crests of her ribs. She ran long fingernails through his scalp, making his blood tingle.

He broke it off before anything too embarrassing happened.

The stood there for several long seconds, breathing each other’s air, and the crowd hushed while they waited for Sanja’s verdict.

She cleared her throat, dropping her hands from his shoulders and pushing herself back on the table a few inches. She drew out the appraisal for several more long seconds before she said, “How much do you want?”

Everyone cheered and over the din, Calder said, “Just one shot...and a piece of this action.” Sanja raised an intrigued eyebrow.

Stepping out from between her knees, Calder hopped up on the table next to her and said, “From now on, anyone wanting a shot has to come through me, too.”

The crowd laughed and a few people cheered until they realized what that meant for them. A few others booed. Sanja laughed, taking the bottle back from Emma and a shot glass from the table behind her, handing both of them to Calder. “I didn’t know you had any bi inclinations, Lauchley,” she said.

“I don’t,” Calder replied, pouring himself a shot. “But if you keep the beer coming I could just for tonight.” The crowd laughed again and someone shouted for someone to get Calder a beer. Calder gestured to William with the bottle. “Except him, he gets a best friend pass.”

People shouted again, jostling William around with friendly jealousy while Calder downed his shot. Sanja told William he’d better step on up, then, and someone pressed a plastic cup of cold beer into Calder’s hand.

He drank three long swallows and then leaned back on one hand while William won his vodka with a kiss, wondering how long it would be before Talia Malan found out.

* * *

“I think I should feel honored,” Judith was saying from across the wooden table at the Dragon’s Crown. “William said you laughed when he asked you to take him driving until you realized he _didn’t_ mean in your car.”

Angel twirled his glass of whiskey a little sheepishly. “Yeah, well, you’re not a brand new driver. And you’re historically-minded. If you want to learn to drive like we used to back in the day, I’ll teach you.”

Judith smiled and said she’d think about it.

After going to see Connor, Angel had gotten on a tram to head over to Old Galway, where the Dragon’s Crown sat at the edge of the city center. No, the _old_ city center, Angel still had to remind himself. Galway had grown since Angel had been human, and sometimes it still baffled him just how much.

East of the old city center was the new city center: the heart of high rises that housed offices and flats. Angel lived there, now, just across the street from Galvia Hospital, which was new to Angel, but was still well over 200 years old. Even further north was the newest section of the city, Uptown: one of those environmental, off-the-grid experiments from the mid-21st century that flourished in success and popularity.

So the Dragon’s Crown wasn’t the closest pub he could go to, but it was his favorite. It was old - it hearkened back to Angel’s human days, in fact, though he’d never gone at the time. The taverns he’d frequented back then were on the west side of the city, closer to home. The Dragon’s Crown _smelled_ old, in the most delightful way.

It also turned into a demon pub around midnight, which gave Angel a good place to socialize (as much as he had to), a place to meet people to exchange information or goods, a place where he could be himself. He was known as the surly vampire in the far booth, but that didn’t stop demons from talking to him or inviting him to a game of kitten poker. It was just who he was; accepted as known fact. He didn’t have to pretend to be any more human than he felt like, and it felt so damn good.

At the stop after Angel had gotten on the tram, Judith Cole had boarded, having just gotten off work at one of the clinics she was sometimes sent to instead of the much larger Galvia Hospital. He enjoyed her company, partly because she didn’t make him feel like he had to pretend, either, and though she did have a tendency to kill the surly atmosphere he’d created at his booth, he didn’t hesitate to ask her to join him. And then it hadn’t taken long after sitting down for their conversation to turn to William’s driving lesson.

“I appreciate what you’re doing for him, Angel,” Judith went on. “I know driving is far more mundane than your usual lessons, but I think it’s important to him that you said yes.”

Angel nodded. Honestly, it was a little important to him, too, but he couldn’t place why and saying it out loud would have made it more real, so instead he responded with, “I don’t mind.” And then, feeling like that was more brush-off-y than he intended, added, “I enjoy driving. And it’s lower stakes than taking them out to a graveyard to teach them to fight while keeping them alive.”

“ _That_ , I also deeply appreciate,” Judith said before taking a long sip of her gin and tonic.

“Keeping them alive or teaching them to fight?” Angel asked, meaning it as a joke.

But Judith replied, “Both.” When Angel didn’t respond in his surprise, she added, “It’s what he wants for his life, and apparently, being a Champion of Good is in his future. How could I not be grateful that he has such a good teacher for that?”

The corners of Angel’s mouth twitched with unexpected warmth and he nodded once, raising his glass to his lips for a sip of whiskey.

“Can I ask you something?” Judith asked when he lowered his glass again. Angel nodded a little trepidatiously, and she went on, “Are you at peace with the whole thing from last summer? With the Powers That Be taking an interest in a corner of your life again?”

The very question made Angel’s stomach clench. “No,” he replied. While it was true that nothing had happened, vision- or PTB-wise since then, it hadn’t even been a year. It probably just wasn’t time yet. “But at least… I don’t regret my actions. After Cordy dragged the vision out of me, that is.”

Judith smiled at him, soft and grateful. “You don’t regret helping us in the end.”

“No,” Angel replied. “I’m not signed on with the Powers, but I’m signed on with you guys.” He let out a nervous breath at the confession. It felt like only a matter of time until those allegiances clashed, with the boys destined for Champion-hood. But maybe by then he’d figure out a solution.

“That,” Judith said with a gentle seriousness that Angel had never seen mastered so well in anyone else, “is very comforting to hear.”

That made one of them.

* * *

Calder helped Sanja screen the vodka consumers until the bottle was gone and, two beers and another shot down, stumbled off the table, high-fiving her a job well done. He couldn’t remember seeing Talia in the crowd, so he went off in search of information and gossip, a fresh beer in hand.

“Hey, Will,” Calder slapped the shoulder of someone who turned around and was not, in fact, William. “Oh, sorry. D’you know where William Cole is? Or Talia Malan? Or Pete Dyer? I heard they were snogging earlier. Not all of them. Just Talia and Pete. Will is blameless.”

Subtlety had never been Calder’s strong suit, and apparently it was even less so when he was drunk.

The person - whom Calder knew but couldn't quite put a name to, shook his head.

“Thanks, mate.” Calder patted the guy’s shoulder again and lumbered off.

In the living room he found another Will lookalike who turned out not to be Will.

“Damn, you all look the same,” Calder complained. “Look, d’you know where Will Cole is? Or Talia Dyer? Or Pete Malan? I heard they were snogging earlier. The first two. _Last_ two, I mean. Will is good.”

“ _Everyone_ saw them snogging,” the Will-lookalike (who Calder just noticed was wearing a dress and was named Lissa Scarpelli) said. “No sign of them for a while though. Maybe they went upstairs?”

“Thanks,” Calder told her and then leaned in to kiss her, since it had become a bit of a habit.

“Uh-uh,” she pushed him away.

“Riiiight,” Calder nodded and then turned and tried to walk away as smoothly as he could. Later William told him he looked like he was pretending to be an ice skater.

“You’re drunk,” William accused, appearing from the crowd.

“Will!” Calder cried triumphantly. “Am not. _You_ are.” Calder had no idea how many beers William had had.

“Am not!” William protested, then leaned in worriedly. “Do you think my mum will be able to tell?”

“That you’re not drunk?”

“Yeah!”

Calder swayed, stumped by the question. “Well _I_ won’t tell her.”

William reached out and draped an arm over Calder’s shoulder. “ _Thank_ you,” he breathed gratefully. His breath stank of beer.

Calder took a sip of his own beer and wrapped his arm around William’s back. “Anytime. D’you know where Pete and Talia are? You’re blameless, by the way, I’ve been telling everyone.”

“Thanks,” William said, sipping his own beer. “But uh...I hate to tell you this, mate…”

“They were snogging, I know,” Calder nodded, waving his beer vaguely. “And you know what, I don’t even care, you know? Why would I care? We weren’t dating, so I don’t care.”

“Right,” William agreed quickly.

“I don’t care at all. Not even a little care.”

“Not a little one. Or a big one.”

“Or _any_ one. I just want to find them to see if Talia knows that I just kissed half the class because I don’t care about her snogging Pete. I want her to know I don’t care, you know?”

William nodded. “Totally reasonable. Let’s go find her.”

They turned and stumbled, arms around each other’s shoulders, and somehow managed to climb the narrow stairs, arguing about who was fatter the whole way up. It was even darker up there than downstairs, and since neither of them had a free hand, neither could dig out their Palms for some light. It didn’t occur to either of them to use the light switch.

“I found a door!” William cried after they lost their balance and crashed into one, beer sloshing all over them.

“Open it!” Calder told him excitedly.

“Can’t, I’m still holding beer,” William told him.

Calder rolled his eyes. “Then _finish_ it, dummy.”

William raised his cup to his lips and drank what remained of his beer in two large swallows. Calder, inspired, did the same, and together they crushed their empty cups in their fists and dropped them to the floor. They fistbumped, missing the first two times, and turned back to the door, dropping their arms from each other’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Calder nodded. “Now open it.”

William grabbed the doorknob and pushed it open.

It was the bathroom and it was occupied. Joey Jones looked up from the toilet in horror and reached out a leg to kick the door back. Through a chorus of _whoas_ and _heys_ , the door slammed shut again and William turned, wafting the air under his nose. “I might throw up,” he choked. “Joey needs to see a doctor or something. It’s not supposed to smell _that_ bad. You can open the next one.”

They each took a wall and felt their way along it until Calder shouted that he found another door, pushing it open before he even finished shouting. The noise startled the couple inside on the bed.

“Talia?” Calder asked, oblivious to the scandalized looks he was getting.

“Lauchley?” came Thomas Ruck’s voice. “Get the hell out of here!”

Well if it wasn’t Pete, it probably wasn’t Talia. Calder closed the door.

“I found the next door, Cal,” William’s voice said a little further down the hall.

Calder made his way over to him. “Remember,” he said, “if she’s in there, we tell her we don’t care.”

“I remember,” William nodded seriously. “Also remember, don’t tell my mum I’m not drunk.”

“Right,” Calder patted William on the back. He took a deep breath and said, “Open it.”

William grasped the knob and twisted...but it wouldn’t turn. He tried again. “Huh,” he said like he couldn’t quite comprehend it.

Calder tried it.

It was no use, the handle wouldn’t turn. Which meant...that whoever was in there didn’t want to get caught. Like maybe they knew that Calder Lauchley might be mad and didn’t want to face him.

Calder backed up a few steps. “Move away, Will,” he said somberly. He lifted his right foot off the ground, squinting at the place he was aiming for. He wobbled. He set it foot down, regained his balance, and tried again.

“Actually, Will, come over here and keep me steady. I think I might be a little drunk.”

William stepped up beside Calder and let him use his shoulder to balance with. Calder raised a foot, kicked, and yelled in pain and the impact shot back up his leg. But the door made a promising cracking noise, so he raised his foot again.

The door broke open on the second try, banging against the wall on the other side. The people inside whipped around to face them, their faces hooded from view in the ambient light from the air that...sparkled?

A small unicorn figurine galloped out the door and down the hall, leaving a trail of glitter dust behind it.

“...The hell?” William murmured.

“Talia?” Calder asked hopefully.

* * *

“I hope that the ballet was as glamorous as they were expecting,” Judith said as she set aside her empty glass with a dull _clink_ on the table. “ _Giselle_ is a classical favorite of mine.”

“Oh, it was...memorable,” Angel agreed vaguely. “Definitely trippy...and a little bit--” He stopped suddenly and cleared his throat. “The owner was a vengeful sorcerer. We stopped him. And...the whole company. They don’t exist anymore.”

Judith straightened up a bit. As a former dancer herself - ballet as well as other styles - her back was habitually straighter than most people’s, but it seemed that she felt it could always be straighter. “Oh,” she said simply. “Well, then if it’s all the same to you, I might not invite you along the next time I go. At least not to any of my favorite companies.”

Angel nodded. “I understand.”

A comfortable silence fell, but Angel nevertheless filled it with finishing off his whiskey. He set his glass aside with the same dull _clink_.

“So how _is_ Cordelia?” Judith asked. “Have you heard from her?”

Angel glanced up at Judith and then shook his head. Not since she’d left, promising to come back to see him “sometime.”

“I guess she’s pretty busy,” he said with a light shrug, “and I don’t have a phone that can call across dimensions, so…”

Judith nodded. Another brief silence. “Still, it must be nice knowing that she’s out there somewhere.”

“It is,” Angel agreed. It was nice. It was also so much more than _nice_. So much better and so much worse. But “nice” was good enough for now. For this circumstance and this person across the table.

Judith looked like she wanted to press the topic but she bit her lip in hesitation, probably wondering if she thought she and Angel were good enough friends to pry. Angel wondered that, too. He wondered if he would truthfully answer the questions that a prying friend might ask.

 _Was Cordy part of his life again?_ Yes? Maybe. Kind of. If you call the promise of an occasional visit every few years being part of someone’s life. If you think that the visits count _more_ if it includes sex, then a little more toward the Yes.

 _Had they…?_ Yes. It had won out over food.

 _Were they…?_ Together: no. In love: Angel was trying very hard not to be. He thought he probably failed a long time ago.

Judith took a deep breath as she prepared to speak.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you: William is unavailable this weekend. My mother is coming into town for a visit and he’s forbidden from leaving me alone with her.” There was a small spark of humor in her eye, though her tone was serious.

Angel leaned back with a small smile, glad to be moving on to someone else’s uncomfortable topic instead of his own. “A Mother Shield,” he said. “Kid _is_ pretty good at defense.”

“And the Grandson Parry is a mighty powerful one,” Judith gave a little shudder like she were contemplating just how lost the war would be without it.

The corner of Angel’s smile twitched once before it relaxed into sobriety. “Things aren’t good with your mother?”

Judith considered him a moment, also seeming to waver over how much light to make of the subject. Finally she said, “Well I don’t expect fireworks… But we may set off a few smoke alarms.”

“I’ll alert the fire department,” Angel told her.

“And you’ll let me have my son under house arrest from Thursday evening until Monday afternoon.”

“What about school?”

Judith did not meet his eyes as she said in a haughty sort of defense, “Spring break starts the following week. It’s not unusual for students to take the Friday beforehand off…”

“Judith, Judith,” Angel _tsked_ . “That’s his _education_.”

Judith shot him a friendly glare. “It’s _my_ sanity.”

Well, who could argue with sanity? Angel raised his hands in surrender. “Got it. He’s all yours.”

“Thank you.” Judith pulled out her Palm to check the time. “I should be going. I have an early shift tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Angel said as they both slid out of their seats. “I have to see a guy about a thing in Renmore.”

Judith gave him an odd look between pulling up a payment option on her Palm and leading the way up to the bar. “The tram I’m taking goes right by Renmore,” she said. “You’ll only take me to the door?”

“I thought I’d walk,” Angel said. “Atalia Bridge is nice at night.”

“Oh.” Judith tapped her Palm against the small payment kiosk and waited for the approving _beep_. “I’ll have to do that sometime.”

Angel had a running tab that charged his account at the end of every week, so he just turned to nod to Marty as they left.

* * *

Drunken fighting had a gritty sort of glamour in movies and holos, but Calder very quickly found out that, while the grit was real, the glamour was not. Except in that weird sparkly electric-type stuff in the air. With his vision blurred and his cognition backslid at least 16 of his almost-18 years, the swirling sparks of light were kind of glamorous in their own right.

Something hard and knuckle-y slammed into Calder’s cheekbone and he went flying. His feet lifted off the ground and he swam through the electricity and the sparking swirls and past dark, heaving bodies and--

He landed on something wonderfully soft and Calder thought that it would be a wonderful time to take a nap. He was so sleepy…

And a little nauseous.

Groaning, Calder sat up.

“Cal?” Will’s voice drifted slowly and loudly into Calder’s ears.

“Yeah,” Calder shook himself, cheek throbbing, but instead of clearing his head it was like shaking a snowglobe. A snowglobe of bright, glittery lights. “Blech. Yeah.”

“I’m pretty sure we have to smash the unicorn,” Will’s voice came from the other side of the room now. There was thuds and grunts all around. “Spop the starklies. Stop the sparklies.”

“Rrrrright.” Calder pushed himself up. “Spop the sparklies. Will?”

“What?”

“Where’s the unicorn?”

Someone in a dark robe and hood loomed out of the darkness at Calder. He ducked just before the blow would have hit him and in a move that was automatic now, rammed his shoulder up and into the stomach of his attacker. The person blew out a painful-sounding _whoof_ of air and moaned. Calder let the person fall backward onto the ground and looked wildly around.

It was hard to see in all light from the sparks against the darkness of the room, glaring off his drunken vision like tiny headlights. Figures moved everywhere, people were shouting, grunting, the music downstairs still booming.

“Stop, _stop!_ ” Jodie Dempsey was shouting. She was wearing one of the robes, too, but the hood had slid off. She was trying to push William and someone else Calder didn’t recognize apart, and Calder couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t seem to be drunk at all anymore.

Suddenly, downstairs erupted into chaos. There was an uproar like the swell of a crowd at a football match shouting “Go!” and “Run!”, only much more panicked, and Calder dimly registered flashing lights outside the house. Someone behind Calder swore and knocked into him on their way out the broken door.

“Will!” Calder shouted, tripping over several pillar candles on his way to William. “Will, let’s go! Police!”

~~~~~

Angel ended up walking with Judith to the end of the block, where she stopped to wait at a station for the next tram that would take her up to Ballybaan, and Angel continued on to Atalia Bridge, which would take him to Renmore. Spanning Lough Atalia, it was for pedestrian and bike traffic only, and Angel often liked to use it to get to the Dragon’s Crown so he could stare off into the dark water below as he walked.

He noticed the flashing lights not long after he made it to the other side and was passing through the neighborhood of townhouses where he’d bid goodbye to the boys for their party. Angel tended to ignore chaos and crowds as a general rule, especially when the bright lights of police cars were involved - they hurt his eyes. But he had an odd sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and he didn’t question himself as he veered toward the emergency vehicles.

When he rounded the corner he saw the house of the busted party, police monitoring and questioning the kids who had yet to be picked up by seething parents, and a few said parents were hauling their stumbling teens home with looks that ranged from irate to livid.

Angel wondered if William and Calder were still there or if they’d made it out. He wondered if he had any sort of moral responsibility, here. To do (or to have done) what, he wasn’t sure. He sometimes bought them beers at the Dragon’s Crown (with Judith’s permission, he might add), and it wasn’t like he hadn’t known - or guessed - that there weren’t going to be parents there.

He scanned the people as he approached and stopped when he noticed the two boys sitting on the front steps. They looked miserable. William was holding an ice pack to his jaw, Calder one to his left cheek. A single policeman stood in front of them, partially blocking Angel’s view with his not-so-thin stature.

“We _told_ you,” Calder was saying with a slurred kind of pain through the ice pack at his cheek (and, Angel guessed, some unknown but significant amount of alcohol), “we _stopped_ the fight. Can’t you just - ”

“No, I ‘can’t just,’” the officer replied wearily, like it was the fifth time they were going over this. Angel approached them quietly, ghosting up behind the officer to listen more closely. “Kid, I’m only going to say this one more time: Give me your IDs. _Now_. Or I’m taking you in.”

“I left mine at home,” Calder muttered grumpily as William shifted nervously beside him.

“I’ll bet,” the officer muttered just as grumpily. “Alright, up you--”

“What the _hell_ is going on, here?” Angel shouted, stepping out from behind the officer. The officer jumped and turned, hand automatically going for his belt. The boys jumped, too, and their expressions were a hesitant mix of relief and horror to see him. This pleased Angel: maybe he wasn’t _such_ a bad influence that they weren’t at least a little afraid that he might actually be mad at them.

“I knew it,” Angel nodded briskly before the officer could reply, biting his lower lip like he was angrily disappointed in the boys. “As soon as I heard-- What am I going to _do_ with you two?”

The officer’s tension eased a bit. Angel noticed that he had remarkably bushy eyebrows as their inward slant relaxed upward. “Sir, are you their father?”

“Sometimes, I wonder,” Angel replied crossly. He gave the boys a hard glare and then turned to the officer. “What have they been up to, officer?”

“Oh, the usual for this crowd,” the officer replied, placing his hands on his hips. “Drinking, fighting. No drugs this time, from what we can tell. Mother is out of town. Your boys didn’t want to give me their IDs, _or_ your number to call you.” He gave them a significant glare that plainly said that he didn’t believe for a second that Calder’s ID had been left at home. Angel knew for a fact that William’s hadn’t - he’d used it to rent the school’s car earlier.

Angel shook his head in disbelief. “Irresponsible brats. Too afraid of owning up, is what it is. Calder’s particularly bad,” Angel nodded toward Calder, who gave him a somewhat offended look. Angel turned back to the officer and took note of the name on his badge. “What do you need from me, Officer...McCullough?”

Officer McCullough breathed a visible sigh of relief at finally getting somewhere. “Their IDs would be ideal - we haven’t found any open bottles of hard liquor, so I just have to verify that they’re 18.”

“Try again, Pat,” another officer appeared in the doorway behind the boys, holding up an empty bottle of vodka. She gave Officer McCullough a _Dumb kids, eh?_ look. “Found it at the top of the bin. ‘Scuse me, kids,” she squeezed between William and Calder on the steps and passed between Angel and the officer on her way by.

Officer McCullough sighed heavily and turned back to Angel with an exasperated look.

Angel shrugged apologetically. “I’ll eat my hat if either of them thought far enough ahead to bring their IDs. Say, when are lot going to catch up to the digital age and start accepting electronic IDs?”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” Officer McCullough shook his head. “Guess it’s too easy to make fake ones. The chips in the cards are more secure, or something like that. Would make _my_ job easier, though...”

Angel chuckled, reaching in his own back pocket to pull out his wallet. “Will mine do if I give you my word they’re over 18? In age, if not in intelligence.” Angel offered his card to the policeman, who sighed.

“I’m really not supposed to…” he said as he took it anyway. He pulled out his Palm, which had a small attachment for reading ID chips. He stuck Angel’s card in the device and they waited for a few seconds. When it beeped, Officer McCullough’s bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“ _Oh_ ,” he said, staring at the information that popped up. “Oh, right. Of course, sir, there’s no problem here.”

“Great,” Angel smiled. “Thank you so much, Officer McCullough. So...can I get these two home? I think their mother will want a strong word…”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Officer McCullough handed Angel’s ID back to him. He turned to William and Calder and raised a finger. “You didn’t have any of that vodka, right?”

William shook his head quickly while Calder nodded vigorously. “Right, no, of course not,” they said in rounds.

Officer McCullough nodded. “Next time, remember your IDs, okay?”

William and Calder mumbled incoherent but enthusiastic affirmatives and thanks as they stood up, dropping their ice packs on the stoop. They edged around the officer, looking uncertainly up at Angel, who maintained a stony, disapproving glare at them.

“Well?” Angel jerked his head toward the street.

They shuffled hurriedly off and Angel gave the officer one last _What are you gonna do?_ eye roll before thanking him and following the boys.

None of them spoke until they were out of sight around the next corner, when Calder blew out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Whew! Thanks, Angel. That could’ve been really bad. Now: we have to go back.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Back home? Damn straight.”

“No, no, back to Jodie’s house. The unicorn has to stay smashed.”

“Uh huh,” Angel agreed vaguely. “I’m sure it’ll still be there tomorrow…”

“ _No_ ,” Calder insisted. Even walking next to him, his breath stank of beer. Angel wrinkled his nose. “Tell him, Will.”

“It’s true,” William agreed. “It needs to stay smashed. Are you mad at us? Are you going to tell my mum?”

Calder sighed again, this time in frustration. “Will, that’s not-- Tell Angel about the unicorn.”

“It needs to stay smashed,” William told Angel.

“Yeah,” Angel said, pulling them both by the elbows down the next northward turn. He was pretty sure there was a tram stop at the end of that road. This was a residential area, and all the townhouses looked the same to him. “So I’ve heard.”

“No, Angel,” Calder protested, though he allowed Angel to drag him along the empty sidewalk, “you don’t get it. See, behind the locked door there were sparkles and people with hoods and a little unicorn running around and we smashed it once, but then _it came back_.”

Angel stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and pulled Calder closer, smelling for the presence of drugs.

“Hey! Whoa, Angel, I’m not looking to snog anyone anymore.”

Angel let go of him and moved onward. Calder smelled clean (of drugs, but not of much else), but not all drugs had a detectable scent. “What’d they put in your beer?” he asked.

“Huh?” Calder asked, trotting to keep up with Angel’s quick stride.

“Hops, water, alcohol...” William started listing.

“Drugs?” Angel clarified.

Calder shook his head. “Nope, no drugs.”

“...grains, yeast, deliciousness…”

“Come on,” Angel said tiredly. Where was that tram stop? Next street over?

“ _Really_ ,” Calder insisted.

“You’re drunk.”

“Yeah!”

“And high.”

“No! Look, I know what I saw! We’ve got to go back and make sure that unicorn is smashed or who knows _what’ll_ happen.”

“...fizzies, the color gold...”

“I do,” Angel told him. He spotted the tram stop up ahead and breathed a sigh of relief. “Nothing. Nothing’s going to happen. Little unicorns that come back to life don’t exist, and the only sparkly magic spells I know of are directly related to Tinkerbell and Peter Pan. Go home, Calder. Sleep it off. And drink lots of water or your head will be splitting by morning.”

“You don’t know all the spells in the world,” Calder retorted grumpily.

“I know more than you,” Angel replied. “And I’m sober. Benefit of logic goes to me.”

“Alright, fine,” Calder said, spinning around so suddenly it made _Angel_ dizzy. “I’ll do it alone.”

“That’s what she said,” William laughed, but then quickly stopped to follow Calder. “But actually, I’ll help.”

“ _That’s_ what--”

“Guys!” Angel growled.

The boys stopped and looked cautiously back at Angel.

“I _just_ saved your asses back there. Are you _really_ going to--”

“Yeah, hey,” Calder frowned, pointing a finger at Angel, having just realized something. “What’s your ID say, anyway?”

Angel waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing, it’s a vampire thing.”

“It says you’re a vampire?” William asked.

“Not exactly. But look, guys: I’ve been there. I know how much you think you’re right about this, but can you just _trust_ me? Go home.”

Calder folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. Angel sighed in frustration. If they _wanted_ to get arrested, why not let them?

“Fine,” Angel held up his hands in surrender. “Go smash the damn unicorn.”

He turned on his heel and began stalking away.

“How about _you_ trust _us?_ ” Calder called after several paces. Angel paused. “If there’s no unicorn, then _someone_ _somehow_ drugged an untapped keg of beer that Jodie _just_ got from the brewery.” He had a difficult time pronouncing _brewery_.

“And also,” William added, “beer isn’t hallucin-- hall-- hullcintary…”

“Hallucinatory,” Angel said, turning around slowly. They were right.

“That,” William agreed. “Are you going to tell my mum?”

Angel shook his head. Judith would find out from the smell anyway.

“There were people in hooded cloaks,” Calder said, his voice lowering seriously, “and they were chanting something and they were _not_ happy that I interrupted.”

Angel took a few steps toward them, still not quite believing them, but for the first time starting to have doubts.

“And there was a little unicorn and little angels in the middle of the pentacle, but they scattered when I came in,” Calder continued. “And the people came after me and Will and that’s how the fight started.”

“So really, we lied to the officer,” William said somberly. “We didn’t help stop the fight… My mum’s going to kill me.”

Angel frowned, thinking their story over. “Do you have any idea who they were? Or why they were there?”

Calder shrugged, but William offered, “High energy potential? Lots of people, lots of dancing…”

“Lots of snogging,” Calder grumbled.

Angel scratched the back of his head, thinking.

“Are we going to go?” Calder finally asked.

“No,” Angel replied slowly. Calder made a noise of frustrated protest, but Angel held up a hand. “We’ll look into it,” he promised. “Just not now. Whatever they might’ve been trying to do was disrupted. I don’t think they’ll try again tonight.”

“But there’s a tiny unicorn running around,” Calder reminded him.

“We won’t be able to find it now,” Angel told him. “Let’s get you guys home. Come over tomorrow after sundown and we’ll look into it.”

William perked up a bit. “So you believe us?”

Did Angel believe in sparkly unicorn-angel spells? Not particularly, but he’d seen enough to know that he couldn’t rule anything out completely. And he did owe the boys some trust, after all they’d been through. “I believe something’s going on,” he said diplomatically. “Even if it’s just that someone drugged a whole keg of beer.”

Calder punched Angel lightly in the arm, but started walking toward the tram stop on his own. Angel turned to walk with him, and William followed.

“Was it at least a fun party before the fight?” Angel asked as they walked.

“Yeah,” William said at the same time as Calder snorted derisively.

Angel gave him a questioning sideways glance.

“Talia Malan was snogging Pete Dyer in the corner,” Calder answered morosely.

The girl’s name rang a bell, but Angel couldn’t quite… “Oh, the girl you were going to ask out?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Calder huffed, crossing his arms.

“Ah, sorry,” Angel winced. That was why he’d stuck with tavern wenches: it was their job to snog everyone.

“So then Cal snogged half the school in return,” William said.

“Well,” Angel said thoughtfully, “I guess that’s better than punching...whatshisname? Pete? Good for you, Calder.”

“I was thinking of you the whole time, Angel,” Calder replied.

“I...don’t know what to think about that,” Angel said, blinking.

“Not like that, just that you’re a good influence,” Calder told him. “I still don’t like guys. I kissed a bunch of them because I don’t care about Talia snogging Pete and they all wanted vodka, but I wasn’t really into it.” Angel wasn’t sure if he should try to keep up with the logic of events. “Except that Louis Goldberg has the softest lips I’ve ever felt…”

“My mum’s going to find out, isn’t she?” William said despondently from Angel’s other side. He crossed his arms.

“That was three seconds in heaven…”

“Probably,” Angel told William. “You reek.”

“You could stay at my place tonight,” Calder offered. “I don’t think my parents’ll notice.”

“Or you could just get it over with,” Angel said. They reached the station and Angel pressed the call button to let the next tram know it had passengers. “It’s not like you can get much more grounded than you already are…”

“Huh?” William asked.

“Your grandmother.”

“Oh right! I was supposed to tell you--”

“I got it,” Angel waved a hand. “House arrest. Grandson Parry. Might as well earn the work, huh?”

“I guess…” William agreed.

“Too bad you two live in flats,” Angel continued thoughtfully. “When I was your age, I’d just climb through a window on the other side of the house.”

“Drunk?” Calder asked, impressed.

“Sure. You walk a lot of it off on the way home anyway.”

“Wow.”

“You kids have it so easy,” Angel said, remembering how he’d have to jump over the bushes without crashing into the outside wall _and_ balance a landing on the sill.

“Yeah,” Calder agreed. “I bet _you_ didn’t have an older vampire friend to lie to the police for you.”

An icy realization hit Angel and he looked at William. “On second thought…” he said slowly, “maybe you don’t tell your mom about this.”


	2. Chapter 2

Calder waited a generous 48 hours before approaching Jodie Dempsey.

Oh, he was back there investigating as soon as his headache went away, and spent several hours following faint, winding trails of glitter all over the neighborhood (probably looking like he was still quite drunk), but in the end turned up empty. When he knocked on her door that afternoon, she wasn’t home, and the next day her mother was due back, and Calder figured they should have their fight about the party in peace.

So he caught up with her after school the next day, catching the tram with her even though it took him the exact opposite way from home.

Sliding into the seat next to her, he nudged her shoulder to get her attention. She looked up from her Palm, tapping at the earbud that must have been in her far ear, tilting her head a bit to get her long hair out of the way. “Lauchley,” she said a little warily. Calder noticed she had dark circles under her brown eyes. “Is this your tram?”

“Gotta make errands,” Calder replied. “How’s it with your mum about the party?”

“Oh, the usual,” she replied, looking down and away and shrugging nonchalantly. “She’s pissed and I’m grounded.”

“Sorry,” Calder winced. “It was a good party, though.”

“Yeah?”  she said, sounding a little nervous. “You thought so?”

“Oh yeah,” Calder said emphatically. “Yeah, that was a seriously good party. I thought that little unicorn running around was especially cool.”

Jodie stiffened beside him.

“Great bit of tech,” Calder continued like he was oblivious to her nervousness. “Almost like magic.”

Jodie looked up at him fearfully. “Calder--” she started and then quickly corrected herself, “Lauchley…”

“What kind of magic were you doing, Jodie?” Calder asked, figuring induction into the magic-is-real club warranted at least tentative use of first names.

Jodie glanced around the tram nervously. Commuters were starting to fill it, but most were in their own worlds, listening to music or news or books through their earbuds. She pulled her soft grey jumper tighter closed over her chest and whispered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t,” Calder rolled his eyes. “I know about magic, Jodie. I was practically raised by a vampire. You needed the energy of the party to make your spell work, didn’t you? Come on. What plans did Will and I stomp all over?”

Jodie swore under her breath. “I was really hoping you were drunk enough to think you made it all up…” She sighed through her teeth and kicked her feet out nervously. “What does it matter? It didn’t work. There’s no way I’ll get another chance.”

“I’m curious,” Calder said. “The unicorn has me stumped.”

Fidgeting with the Palm in her hand, Jodie didn’t answer right away. She glanced around again, obviously trying to be covert but in her effort to do so Calder suddenly felt like they were dealing hard drugs together. She swallowed. “My dad gave me that unicorn. He was supposed to be able to…”

Calder waited, but she didn’t continue. She didn’t really need to, either. “My god, Jodie,” Calder whispered as the answer occurred to him. “You were trying to _bring him back to life?_ ”

Jodie scratched her nose purposefully and didn’t answer.

“Jodie,” Calder hissed. “Zombies have _no place_ in human society. You should know this.”

“He wasn’t going to be a _zombie_ ,” Jodie hissed back angrily, finally looking up at him.

“Uh, yeah, he was,” Calder told her bluntly. “Raising someone back from the dead makes them a zombie. Or a ghost. Or something else that’s _not human_. That’s like, the first rule of magic. Didn’t they teach you that?”

“Who?”

“Your teacher. Hogwarts. Gandalf. Whoever.”

Again, Jodie didn’t answer, seeming a bit stymied by the question.

Calder rolled his eyes again. “You’re teaching yourself? Did Ferguson sell you the spellbook you used? I’m gonna have to have Angel have a talk with him...”

“Who?” Jodie asked. “No, I didn’t buy them. The books were my dad’s. I found them helping Mum go through his things. The robes, too, and some of the candles.”

“Your dad was a practitioner?”

Jodie shrugged. “I guess… I never knew, and I didn’t want to ask Mum ‘cause she’d take the stuff away.”

“Huh,” Calder said thoughtfully. He wondered if Angel knew Mr. Dempsey. Calder knew he liked to at least introduce himself to people with any sort of supernatural power in town. “What was your dad’s name again?”

“Macky,” Jodie replied. “Why?”

Calder shrugged. “Just curious. So, Jodie, you’re not going to try again, right?”

“I told you, I can’t,” she said bitterly. “I don’t have a big enough energy source.”

“Good,” Calder nodded. “I’m sorry about your dad, Jodie, but it was never going to work the way you thought it was. That kind of magic is really dangerous, even for someone who knows what they’re doing. ‘Kay?”

Jodie nodded, though her jaw was set angrily. Calder felt weirdly like a parent scolding their kid and he didn’t like it. Satisfied that the magic business was done, he crossed an ankle over his leg and leaned in toward her. “Hey Jodie?” he asked.

“Hm?”

“...Do you know if Talia Malan is dating Pete Dyer now?”

* * *

Yeah, yeah, Cordy got the message loud and clear.

Not that the vision itself was at all clear (but it _was_ loud), but that little twinge at the end of it. That slight coloration as the vision faded, like a tone of voice in someone you’ve known for a very long time. The Powers didn’t _mean_ to ask it, but Cordy could tell they were concerned.

“I can handle it, okay?” she said, looking up at the sky in frustration. “Didn’t I last time? Or are you trying to warn me that Wesley’s going to be there, too? Lorne? _Xander?_ ”

She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing out a breath. The vision had come for William Cole and Calder Lauchley, up-and-coming Champions stationed in Galway, Ireland, the year 2215. Where Angel was living now.

Angel, whose time in Cordy’s life had been temporally brief, but who had the kind of impact that affected eternity. Literally. Cordy wouldn’t be alive, immortal, and an interdimensional Seer for the Powers That Be if she hadn’t run into Angel at that party in L.A.

A little over a year ago, Cordy had responded to a vision in Galway that had taken her literally to Angel’s door (although, she noted as she gathered in her portal-opening willpower and focused it on the date sent in the vision, it would be a little _under_ a year for the Champion-ettes and Angel, if she saw him). And after a confusing and somewhat heart-wrenching reunion, she had left promising they could be friends and she’d visit occasionally, but that their time was past.

Which might have been a more effective message (to both of them) if she hadn’t been putting her clothes back on at the time. Well, it wasn’t like she had _tons_ of opportunities for that sort of thing, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t _just_ learned that Angel had asked Willow to anchor his soul permanently if he ever lost it again, and it wasn’t like she and Angel didn’t have some very unresolved feelings that needed to be...resolved.

She had thought as she took his elbow after he’d turned toward the kitchen to make her food that it would be some sort of closure, and maybe it could have been if that was going to be the last time they’d see each other. But as she’d said before leaving, he was still one of her best friends, and now that she couldn’t distract him from his purpose, there wasn’t a good reason for her to stay away.

Except, as the Power’s tone of vision implied, how _he_ might distract _her_.

“I’m a professional,” she said to her empty flat as the portal to Galway shimmered in front of her. “I’m going to deliver my message. And if there’s time after that to go see a good friend before my next job, well, that’s my own damn business.”

She shot another glare upward and stepped through the portal.

She came out in front of a pub. It was dark and chilly (late March in coastal Ireland, she reminded herself), and there was a charmingly antiquated wooden sign hanging by the door with a painted green dragon wearing a crown. When opening portals, Cordy set the place and date, but left enough room for the PTB to adjust a little more precisely. She wasn’t sure what this place was, but it was probably where she needed to be.

Also, she hadn’t brought a jacket. She hurried into the pub.

It was warm and crowded and smelled like old cigar smoke and whiskey and roasted meat. It was also apparently a hangout for the underworldly-type. There were only a few obviously non-humans, but no one seemed to think their presence strange. She couldn’t pick out any familiar faces in the crowd, so she edged up to the bar, where a young man with neat black hair was serving a round of blood shots to a pair of vamped-out vampires who seemed to be on a date. The girl just had that I’m-already-bored look at the guy who was gesturing emphatically.

“Excuse me?” Cordy asked the bartender, who looked up and came over to her. His name tag told her that his name was Marty. “Slightly weird question in a place like this--” she glanced briefly at the guy-half of the vampire date next to her; he was talking excitedly about his finger trophy collection, “--but I’m looking for two teenage boys. One’s tall, dark hair, the other’s slightly shorter, sandy hair…”

Marty’s eyes lit up with hesitant recognition. “Cole and Lauchley?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Cordy smiled in relief. “That’s them.”

Marty pointed to a booth in the far corner of the pub. “Just over--” he frowned. “Oh, they were there…”

Cordy stood on tiptoes to follow his finger and her breath caught for a second. Angel was sitting in that far booth, just visible near the wall, nursing a glass of something she couldn’t quite make out. “It’s okay,” she told Marty, lowering herself again, “I know that guy. Thanks.”

Marty nodded and went off to tend to his other customers. Cordy started for the far booth, but then, unable to deny her most deep-seated compulsions, winced and turned toward the vampire couple.

“Hi! Sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing…”

Both vampires looked at her in surprise and Cordy ignored the low warning growl when she placed her hand on the guy’s shoulder. “It’s not impressing her, buddy, abort topic _now_. Why don’t you try something you can both weigh in on? Favorite torture methods, maybe? Just a thought. You’re welcome.”

And Cordy turned and slipped away, heading for the table of the objectively easier-to-approach vampire. He was leaning back and comfortable when Cordy saw him through a window in the shifting crowd, but the window soon closed again as two figures approached his table before Cordy got there. She realized half a second later as they sat down that it was William and Calder, who both had fresh beers in their hands. They settled in across from Angel, and though Cordy could only see Angel’s face, the body language was clear enough as their conversation struck up again.

They were happy. Close. Idyllic, even.

It stung, a little, knowing she couldn’t be part of that, but Cordy also found it reassuring. She’d told Angel the truth when she’d said he didn’t need her and that she had no permanent place in his life. Sometimes she’d questioned that over the past year. But seeing him like this would make it easier for Cordy to deliver her message and leave. Back to her life, back to the next person who needed her. Never mind that she’d been somewhat hopeful about the possibility of getting laid sometime this year. But that wasn’t a complication either of them needed.

Cordy strode toward their table purposefully.

“Casualty of immortality,” Angel was saying as she drew nearer. He shrugged unsympathetically, hands spreading open on the wood table in front of him, right hand dragging a half-drunk glass of whiskey with it in a deep, slippery scrape. “I can barely keep up with _English_ slang, let alone Irish. I thought I did pretty good modernizing when I moved back here so I didn’t sound like some 18th-century prig, but--”

He’d caught sight of Cordelia and she half-smiled at his utterly derailed expression. Utter derailment was deeply satisfying.

“But the 18th century priggishness lives on?” she guessed.

William and Calder looked up at her in surprise. She gave everyone a bright smile.

“Hey Champs. Got a minute?”

Calder looked at William and got over his surprise first. “Y-yeah,” he said.

Cordy sat down on the bench next to Angel so she could face the two boys, each clutching their beers. “I had a vision for you,” she announced. “And there’s no good way to put this, so I’m just going to go for it. There’s a supernatural force honed in on - and I swear, you can’t make this stuff up--” Cordy held up her hand, “--feet. The Powers want you to look into it.”

“Feet?” Calder asked, bemused.

“Weird, right?”

“Like, mutilations?” William asked, and Cordy and Calder both looked at him in surprise.

“Exactly,” Cordy said. “Like, sliced off toes and then lots of screaming.” She shivered. Why was she getting up close and personal visions of this if William already knew?

“It was on the news,” William said, answering their expressions. “There’ve been two. Self-mutilations, is what they’re saying, although I think the anchors are having a harder time saying that now after the second one.”

“I’ve heard about it, too,” Angel said beside her. “I was actually going to look into it.”

“Oh,” Cordy said. She addressed William as she said, “Well, it’s supernatural. Not psychological.” Then she turned to Angel and added, “And I guess the Powers want the Champions-to-be to handle this one.”

Angel broke her gaze, nodding.

William asked, “Can’t he help?”

Cordy gave him a half-shrug. “It’s not my decision. They want you to handle this case. However you see fit.”

A slightly uncomfortable silence fell for a moment before Calder asked, “What kind of supernatural?”

Cordelia shook her head. “Unfortunately for you guys, the point isn’t that I tell you what it is and you go kill it, it’s that you figure it out. There’s more to being a Champion than slaying evil, you know.”

Calder and William shared a look.

Cordy relented a little. “Between you and me,” she said, “given that actual lives aren’t on the line, here, I think the Powers probably want to see how you handle a whole case, start to finish.” And also probably wanted to see how they responded to taking directions for a PTB-affiliate, given their close association with Angel and his centuries-lingering animosity toward the Powers. But that was better left unsaid. Especially with Angel right there.

“Okay…” Calder said thoughtfully. “Figure out the foot-slaying mystery. We can do that.”

“I can’t,” William said miserably. “My grandmother’s coming to visit tomorrow. I’m supposed to deflect for Mum all weekend, remember?”

How intriguing. Now the Powers’ motives made more sense. Which would win: William’s dedication to his family or the cause? The PTB had no use for Champions who answered with family. Just look at Angel.

“But Will,” Calder protested, “it’s our _job_. People’s feet are on the line. Apparently.”

“I know,” William nodded quickly. “I guess I’ll talk to her, see what we can work out. It’s not like it’s imminent, anyway, right? The first one was - what? - two weeks ago? The second was a few days ago. They’re spread out.”

Calder nodded thoughtfully, although he didn’t look mollified.

“We’ll figure it out,” William assured him. “Worst comes to worse, I can send Angel to do legwork for me.” He shot a grin toward Angel. “If we’re in charge of this case, does that make you our intern?”

Angel made a derisive _tuh_ . “I’ve solved more cases than city blocks you’ve walked, kiddo. If I’m anything, here, it’s your lackey. _Temporary_ lackey.”

Cordelia smiled. Angel was taking the downgrade remarkably well. She decided to throw him a bit of a bone. “If you want my non-PTB-sanctioned advice, Angel’s probably the best lackey you could get yourself. He does actually know a few things.” She grinned at him, and he returned it warmly.

“He has taught us a lot so far,” William agreed, raising his beer glass to his lips.

Cordy tilted her head curiously and asked, “So what’s the legal drinking age here?”

“Eighteen,” Calder replied. “So I’m completely legal now, as of last week, thanks.”

“For beer,” William added. “It’s 21 for hard liquor without a full adult around.”

Cordy looked pointedly at William’s beer. She thought she remembered that William was the younger one. William turned a bit red. “Marty’s cool,” he said.

“So’s your ‘full adult’,” Cordy replied, glancing at Angel, who shrugged unconcernedly. “I get it,” she added. “You’re facing a weekend of mom-to-mom mediation. A beer is in order. I’m assuming we’re not mentioning this, in case I run into her? She doesn’t strike me as the demon bar, underage-drinking-enabling type.”

William replied, “She comes here with Angel sometimes, actually. And she’s let me have beer before.”

“Really?” Cordelia glanced at Angel again, who said quickly,

“Not like on dates. Just talking. Over drinks… Not on dates.”

Calder leaned forward and said, “But right? You wouldn’t think because Judith’s so strict that she’s okay with that, but she’s got this thing against authoritarianism because it’s how she was raised and it screwed her up. She’s been letting Will taste her drinks since he was like 10.”

“It didn’t _screw her up_ , Cal,” William grumbled. “She just gets that my 18th birthday doesn’t magically make me able to handle a beer, and now I know my limits. Gin is _definitely_ a limit.” He made a disgusted-looking expression.

“Jodie Dempsey’s party was your limit,” Calder nudged him with his elbow.

“Which I pushed deliberately and not because I didn’t know where it was,” William replied reasonably.

Calder shrugged and turned back to Cordy. “Anyway, it’s also not a demon bar _all_ the time, just when it gets late enough for regular humans to go home after eating dinner.”

William laughed. “Angel said Mum’s look was priceless when he told her this place is a demon bar at night. She’d been bringing me here for years thinking it was a normal family-friendly pub.”

Calder and Angel laughed, too, and Cordy smiled. It was nice, hearing their stories, seeing them interact with the kind of ease that comes from years of knowing each other. With a slight pang, Cordy realized that if the boys had known Angel close to ten years, now, they’d probably spent more time with him than she had. At a very different capacity, of course. Still, time was something.

“Speaking of drinking, though,” Angel said, looking at Calder and nodding pointedly toward the bar, “you want to go get Cordy something? You can stay a bit, right?” he asked, looking at her.

The professional part of her _had_ been considering leaving as soon as her message was delivered. But the part of her that loved Angel - for their friendship, for how he was family, even if she wasn’t clear on anything beyond that - wanted very much to stay in his company, however that ended up looking. “Of course,” she said, softening. “I have some time.”

Calder pushed himself up from the table and Cordy asked if they might have sangrias.

“They’ve got three different types of blood,” Calder replied. “I’m sure Marty will come through.”

“Put it on my tab,” Angel called after him as he left, and the reply, “Obviously,” came back over the heads of the people at the next table over.

Cordy looked at Angel and promised, “I’ll pay you back. I am on the official payroll now. They pay me more than you did.”

Angel raised an eyebrow at her. “You paid yourself,” he reminded her. “I just signed the checks.”

“Yeah, well, your 18th century priggishness would have had me working for pennies if I hadn’t stepped in,” Cordy returned easily. She watched Angel sputter for a reply under the sounds of William’s snorts with a profound delight in her gut. Angel was _so easy_ to goad, and she didn’t get to do much goading anymore.

She lifted her arm and slid it behind his shoulders for a delayed, positionally-awkward hug. She relaxed a bit as his arm wrapped around her back, despite the uncomfortable angle. It was just Angel.

 _I’m fine_ , she shot at the Powers, in case they were listening in.

“Hi,” Angel said softly as they pulled apart.

“Hey there,” she returned giving him a smile.

The conversation started easily from there. Like she’d just sat down after returning from a trip, she told of her travels and missions of the past year over her sangria, and listened to the boys talk about their minor adventures, from vampire nests to learning to drive. Occasionally Angel would chime in with his patented one-sentence bit, either a correction or a jab. He got a little more talkative when she asked how Connor was doing, and after replying that he was doing about the same, which he supposed was doing well, Calder said,

“So last time you came to town, you revealed the existence of Angel’s son. Are you going to accidentally reveal that he has a daughter, too? Or something else fundamental about his life we should know?”

“Oh, yes,” Cordy nodded seriously. “I really hope he remembered to tell you about how sometimes, when he’s alone, he likes to wear plaid.”

“ _Cordy_ ,” Angel said in mock irritation. “That was _private_.”

She grinned at him and they caught eyes. The gaze lasted a moment too long, and Cordy broke it with a quick draw of breath. “I should--”

“It’s late,” William interrupted. “And technically a school night. I think I’m going to head home.”

Calder sighed. “My grades thank you for your responsibility,” he grumbled, not sounding very thankful about it. “I was just thinking about getting another beer.”

William rolled his eyes and nudged Calder’s shoulder to move out of his way. “Come on,” he said. “You can irresponsibly help me decide if I should tell my mum we were patrolling or having drinks.”

Calder got up, hemming over the quandary while they pulled their jackets on. They said goodnight to Angel before they left, and goodbye to Cordelia.

“I’m sure my mum says hello, if I decide to tell her you stopped in,” William said.

“If that’s the case, tell her hi back,” Cordy replied.

William said he would and they waved  one last time before heading over to the payment kiosk by the door.

“He will,” Angel said softly as they watched them go. “Judith taught him well. Kid has a really hard time lying.”

Cordy looked over at Angel, thinking that apparently Judith had taught him well in the area of observance, too. “That’s not a bad thing,” she said.

“No,” Angel agreed. “It’s not.” His gaze dropped to her empty glass. “Another?” he asked.

The corner of Cordy’s mouth pulled back. “Are you trying to lower my inhibitions before asking me back to your place? You know that’s considered pretty murky consent.”

Angel raised his eyebrow at her.

“What?” she asked. “You know how I operate. I hate elephants in the room.”

Angel relaxed back against the wooden wall that divided their booth from the corner booth behind them. He took a moment, then looked up at her. “Is the elephant whether or not you’re coming home with me, or is it that we slept together last time and we’re not really sure how we’re moving forward from there?”

Cordy had to give Angel props for asking. The Angel she knew in L.A. would have been more prone to assuming than asking. The problem was, she wasn’t quite sure herself. “Both?” she guessed.

Angel gave her a look that told her her that was not helpful.

“Sorry, Angel,” Cordy shrugged. She pushed her empty sangria glass away from her to give her room to lean her elbow on the table as she twisted to face him. “I’m still figuring this out, too. I stand by what I said last time I left: You and me...we can’t be anything committed; anything with a future. I just...don’t see how it’s possible. Do you?”

Angel shook his head, his gaze on his own empty glass.

Cordy reached over the few inches between them and took his hand. “Our time never really came, did it?” she said gently.

“No,” Angel said. “And you don’t think it ever could?”

In a booth in a busy demon pub was both the right and the wrong place to have this kind of conversation, Cordy noted in the back of her head. At least the chatter meant they weren’t likely to be overheard and it also kept things from getting _too_ dramatic. “I’ve tried it,” she said, pulling in a breath. “The long- _long-_ distance thing. It really sucked. Maybe our time will come, Angel, but I don’t think it’s now. And I don’t think it’s soon.”

Angel let that sink in a moment before he asked, “Is it because of the thing with the Powers?”

“No,” she replied, trying not to feel a little irritated at the assumption. “They gave up on you, Angel. You made your point: you can’t be forced.”

Angel swallowed guiltily.

“It’s because of where we live and who we’re tied to,” Cordy went on. “You can’t leave Connor. And William and Calder still need you.”

Angel let out a little breath. “Yeah, now that they’re getting their own cases…”

“Which they’ll need your help with,” Cordy told him firmly. “Angel, they’re so green they’re getting _sliced off toes_ as a first case.” Along with an assortment of hidden tests, apparently.

The corner of Angel’s mouth twitched, and Cordy couldn’t tell if it was in amusement or annoyance.

“You’re doing good by them,” Cordy went on. “To be honest, I think the PTB will owe you for a couple of great Champions in a few years.”

Angel swallowed again and gave his empty glass a longing look. “I'll have to think of what I want to cash in,” he said, sounding like he was trying to make a joke.

Silence fell between them for a bit. Their hands remained clasped on Angel's leg, an appropriate response or follow-up eluding them both. Cordy didn't want to PTB to be what came between them, and she guessed that Angel didn't either. But what could either of them say to make any of that different?

“I'm so afraid, Cordy,” Angel said softly.

Cordy looked over at him. “Of what? I told you: they've given up on you.”

“They sent me a vision,” Angel pointed out. “They could have given you the full vision, but they gave half to me. And even if they hadn’t...someday there’s going to be a moment where I can’t say no. And I know they’re going to be there when that happens.”

Cordy didn’t respond right away. The thing was, he was probably right. The Powers were eternal, and as such, patient. What’s more, they were a balancing force. Not inherently good, not inherently evil. They simply sought to maintain equality in a universe that tended toward entropy. Someone like Angel, who could so easily be a huge mover on either side, would be highly valuable to their cause. Even though they’d lost him now, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t seize the chance to wield some of his power when it came.

“I’m not exactly a member of the board,” Cordy finally said. “I don’t get to hear what their plans are. But I have gotten to know them over the centuries; how they work. And I have to say… You’re probably right.”

Angel’s hand tightened slightly in hers.

“About there being a moment, anyway,” Cordy went on. “About them jumping on it. But I don’t think they have plans for you, Angel. You’re a powerful player for either side, but - and I mean this in the nicest way - you’re not all _that_ special.”

Angel looked up at her and she gave him a little smile. “I’ve traveled the universe. In the ways that count, you’re not as unique as you think.”

A smile played with Angel’s lips. “Thanks,” he said. “That actually does feel a bit nice.”

“Even though your ego really gets off on being special?”

“Even so,” Angel nodded, the smile catching briefly before it flickered out. “What about last summer?” he asked. “They still sent me a vision.”

Cordy shrugged with the shoulder that wasn’t holding her weight. “My guess is they were testing your temperature. And found you a little cooler than neutral. They haven’t sent anymore, right?”

Angel shook his head.

“Then...they’re probably waiting.”

“For that moment,” Angel murmured.

For that moment. When Angel let himself become vulnerable enough again, and that vulnerability was threatened by an outside force, it was almost guaranteed to get exploited. Which was not that different from everyone else, at some point or another, but the things that happened to Angel tended to happen on a grand scale. She really couldn’t blame him for being afraid, and the fact that he hadn’t shut these boys out of his life in that fear showed courage of the quality Cordy had loved about Angel when they were in L.A.

Cordelia squeezed his hand again, which, in the close warmth of the pub was actually not cold.

“So who are you tied to?” Angel finally asked, and it took Cordy a moment to back track in the conversation.

“Oh. People who need me. Who I get visions about, Which, okay, isn’t long term, but it is fulfilling.” She paused and then added, “I have friends, too. Others like me. We live on the banks of a river in a quaint little town. It’s kinda like southern France, only the trees are blue and gold.”

Angel nodded. “Maybe someday I’ll visit,” he said.

“That’d be fun,” Cordy agreed, feeling like it actually would be. “We have a hangout place there, too. It’s kind of like a tea shop, only the tea is alcoholic. It doesn’t affect the locals the same way it does humans, so those of us who are human give the other regulars a good laugh when we go.”

Angel smiled. “Do you have your own room there?”

They were back to that again. But then, they hadn’t exactly cleared that elephant. “I have my own apartment,” she said. “We didn’t always; it used to be dormitory-style. I demanded upgrades.”

“Bet that made you popular with the other Seers,” Angel commented.

“Just the way I like it.” Cordy grinned, but paused, taking Angel in. “I want to come home with you tonight, Angel. I’m just not sure it’s that smart.”

Angel considered that. “Even though we’re agreed? There’s no place for commitment?”

“ _Especially_ though,” Cordy replied. “It just seems like a bad idea to ignore that we ever once had romantic feelings for each other and say to hell with commitment just so that we can bang and pretend we’re fine with it.”

It was a classic recipe for disaster. _The_ classic recipe. Right up there with a Slayer dating a vampire and deciding to give a cat a bath.

Angel caught her eyes, his gaze that kind of intensity that was both alluring and frightening. His voice was quiet, but clear, as he said, “I don’t want to ignore that we’ve had those feelings, Cordy. I want to embrace them by making love to you now, while I can.” He paused to swallow before he added, “And afterward I’ll watch you go, being happy that you still get to live the life you love and that you’re letting me be a small part of it, for now. That’s my commitment to you.”

It took Cordy’s throat an extra moment to open back up. Finally, she breathed, “ _Damn_ you’re a romantic, sappy son of a bitch.”

Angel looked at first surprised and then immensely pleased with himself.

“And I don’t think I’ve mentioned that the gently lilting Irish accent you’ve got now is also really working for you.”

The pleased-with-himself seemed dangerously close to going to Angel’s head.

Cordy took in a breath and let it out slowly. Put the way he said it, it almost sounded like the mature decision. After all, leaving now would also be ignoring those feelings. And Cordy hated ignoring feelings. Ignored feelings grew into elephants.

She relented and asked, “You didn’t happen to drive your Great Phallic Metaphor here, did you? I’m in short sleeves...”

Angel’s expression fell, looking genuinely crestfallen. “ _No…_ ” Then his expression brightened a little and he added, “I could run home and get it.”

“Or you could be an undead, temperature-immune gentleman and let me wear your coat,” Cordy pointed out, starting to slide out of the seat and tugging at Angel’s hand. When Angel seemed to be considering this as a possible, but lesser option, she added, “I’m not having sex with you in that car, Angel.”

His shoulders fell in disappointment and he stood up, letting go of their hands so he could shrug his coat off. “Could we talk about it for the future?” he asked hopefully.

Taking his leather coat and pulling it on - finding herself practically swimming in it - Cordy started leading the way toward the front of the pub as she pointed out that sex in cars was cramped, uncomfortable, and not nearly as hot as they made it out to be in the movies. Angel started to make some counterarguments, interrupted briefly as Cordy exchanged a thumbs up with the vampire couple at the bar, whose date seemed to be going much better.

The banter continued as they walked and found a tram, and was left unresolved as they found other things to argue about. Those also were left unresolved when, as the tram glided closer to Angel’s home, he started kissing her.

Cordy decided, as her last argument slipped from her mind as unconsciously as her hand slipped behind his neck, that she liked this whole embracing thing. And also that the Powers really didn’t have any reason to worry. When it can to dealing with emotions, she _was_ a professional.


	3. Chapter 3

“So how is Sam?”

Judith checked her Palm. Seventeen minutes. She gave her son a _What did I tell you?_ pained smile.

William rolled his eyes slightly and adjusted his grip on his grandmother’s suitcase as the tram rounded a corner.

“What?” Guinevere Thacker asked, arching her dark eyebrows, which had yet to match the mostly-silver head of hair. “What was that look?”

“Nothing, Mum,” Judith sighed. “Sam is fine.”

Judith’s divorce had been difficult for the whole family, but it seemed that none had taken it so hard as Judith’s mother. A traditional Catholic, Guinevere had denounced the decision from the start and never gotten over it. Eight years later, she still believed that Judith and Sam had a chance, if they just _tried_ (like they hadn’t tried). Or, or if they didn’t want to try, she believed that they should at least realize that their covenant was eternal and act like the loving, married couple they’d once professed to always be. Because somehow, God couldn’t tell the difference between pretending to be in love and _actually_ being in love.

So Guinevere considered herself something of a re-matchmaker; quick to point out Sam’s strengths and how much Judith needed them in her life. In the past, remarking on how sad it was that William was growing up without a proper father figure used to be a favorite guilt trip of Guinevere’s. The year that she’d done it in front of William, Judith had decided that they would start having Christmases at home.

Fifteen minutes was the average time in any get together for her to bring Sam up like Judith had never ceased contact with him (as she, obviously, never should have). Two minutes for phone calls.

On their way to the train station, William had scoffed at this, saying that his grandmother would give it an hour, at least; half an hour if they ran out of topics early. So they’d made a bet, and now Judith was owed a pastry from Brennan’s.

“How is his work?” Guinevere asked.

“William would know better than I would,” Judith replied.

“I was including William in the conversation,” Guinevere said like it should have been obvious, but Judith had read the subtextual body language to know differently. Judith was sitting beside her mother on the bench, yet her mother was ever so slightly twisted in her seat toward Judith, directing the question at her rather than the group at large. William was free to answer if he chose, but having been married to Sam, Judith should know the answer, and so the question had actually been to her.

“It’s going well,” William spoke up. “He got promoted a few months ago.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Guinevere said delightedly. “Judith, you didn’t tell me.”

Judith, of course, hadn’t known. She saw Sam once every spring at an annual gathering with longtime mutual friends, and that was their only direct contact. William spent a night or a weekend at Sam’s - who lived across town on the other side of Old Galway - every so often, but lately Judith hadn’t been hearing much reporting on those visits. When William was young it seemed she would hear every detail, but the older he got, the briefer his accounts became. Last time, the exchange had gone like this:

Judith: How did it go?

William: Fine. Dad says hi. What’s for dinner?

“Must have slipped my mind,” Judith said vaguely.

“We should stop in and visit him while I’m here,” Guinevere continued. “It’s been so long…”

Judith resisted the urge to clench her fists with frustration. “His flat is on the other side of town, Mum, and I think he’s quite busy.”

“Not too busy for family, I’d hope,” Guinevere laughed like Judith was being ridiculous.

“He’s not exactly family anymore,” Judith pointed out as she turned to look out the window. It was just after suppertime but the sun had set and the city was lit brightly for the commuters and restaurant-goers. They all seemed a blur as the tram sped by. “Not to you or me, anyway.”

“Perhaps not under human law,” Guinevere agreed tersely. But he was family, eternally, under God’s law.

Judith sighed again.

“ _Maimeó_ ,” William intervened, “this year we get ten free days off school to go visit colleges we might want to apply to, so next month Mum and I are going to Dublin for a long weekend.”

This successfully diverted Judith’s mother onto a new topic, and Judith gave William a grateful smile.

 _Less than four days_ , she told herself. _You’ll be fine._

* * *

Still hoping that the unicorn was a drunken fantasy that would be forgotten by morning, Angel hadn’t brought it up again, and when Calder had brought up the party without mentioning the unicorn at the Dragon’s Crown, Angel’s hope had been fueled.

So when Calder brought it up the next night on their way to Galvia Hospital to talk to the foot victims, Angel swore mildly to himself.

“You broke your promise,” Calder accused.

“What? What promise?”

“You were going to help us investigate the unicorn spell at Jodie Dempsey’s party.”

They turned right, following the sidewalk down the road that led up to the front entrance of the hospital. “I was waiting for your lead,” Angel told him, which was true.

“You were hoping I was too hungover to remember,” Calder said, his tone still accusing.

“Well…” Angel shrugged.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about it,” Calder said. “I investigated on my own. Turns out, Jodie’s dad was a practitioner. She found his books and was trying to bring him back to life. She needed the party as an energy source and the unicorn was an anchor - he gave it to her.”

Angel swore softly.

“That’s right,” Calder said triumphantly. “ _I told you so_. Also, look at me, juggling two cases at once. It’s like I was born for this.”

“Is she going to try again?” Angel asked.

Calder shook his head. “Party’s dead and I told her off for it. It’s over.”

“Good,” Angel nodded. “What was her dad’s name?”

“Macky Dempsey. Did you know him?”

This time, Angel shook his head. “Never heard of him.” That concerned him mildly. Angel liked to know who the players were in town, so if there was a practitioner around he didn’t know - practically in Angel’s neighborhood - that either meant that he’d been weak enough to not merit Angel’s notice or sly enough to escape it. He’d have to ask around.

They entered the hospital and Angel paused at the front desk to ask for directions and then led Calder toward the lifts.

Galvia Hospital was a little like Angel’s grocery store. Several decades ago, in the midst of a crisis, the government had mandated all eligible citizens to donate blood regularly to keep supplies readily available. It worked so well that hospitals now tended to have _too_ much on hand - or at least enough that it could also supply hungry vampires like Angel without being missed. Angel, in full-blown Shun All Humanity mode, had switched back to human blood by then anyway, but by more insidious means than introducing himself to the hospital director and asking nicely for any extra bags of blood. Doing so after the mandate had secretly made him feel like less of a vampire, and he told himself that that was a good thing.

So the hospital was like Angel’s grocery store, but the actual patient rooms were like the aisles that you never go down: even with directions Angel became quickly lost as he and Calder browsed sections and patient names, looking for the first of the toe-less victims on their list.

“Want me to question the first one or do you want to just dive in?” Angel asked Calder as they walked. His insides felt a little uneasy about this whole thing. Not the foot thing, that was...weird. The PTB-assigning-the-boys-missions thing. He wasn’t surprised it had happened, but he was surprised it had happened so soon. Like Cordy had said: they were green. And since Angel was already training them anyway (and for that matter, already interested in this particular case), why send Cordelia to assign them to it?

Angel had asked her this the night before as she was putting on her shoes, and she’d replied, “Honestly, Angel, the Powers still work in mysterious ways for me. They must know something we don’t. That’s usually how it works anyway.”

It hadn’t sat right with Angel, partly because he noticed her heart rate increase slightly (though that could have been because she’d looked back at him and her eyes kept sliding to his bare chest). It made him start to think a little more seriously about what kind of favors he might be able to cash in for helping train new PTB Champions. Favors like blackmail immunity.

“Dive in,” Calder said in response to Angel’s question. “I’ve been investigating a lot lately and my people skills are probably better.”

“Hey, I used to do this professionally,” Angel retorted. They came to a T intersection and turned left toward rooms 300-320.

“My people skills are still probably better,” Calder grinned at him. “You’re all old and rusty.”

“And you’re green.”

“Bah,” Calder waved a dismissive hand. “How hard can it be? ‘Hey, how’re you doing? In the hospital, huh? That sucks. Say, what can you tell us about the night you sawed off your own foot? We want all the gorey details. Literally.’ And then, when we’ve made her recount exactly how it feels to have a knife saw through your bones and tendons and wake up and realize you did it to yourself, I’ll finish off with, ‘Well, thanks for the info. I hope you can afford prosthetics because if not...damn.’”

“Oh yeah,” Angel agreed, rolling his eyes, “yeah, you’re a natural…”

“Cordy said it’s my job, Angel,” Calder reminded him. “I got it.”

They paused just outside 311. “Right…” Angel nodded. “Okay, but don’t forget to ask about all the senses. Even ‘weird vibes’ can give us a clue. Ask about anything weird in the last month or so, even if it’s unrelated. And, oh--”

“Angel,” Calder interrupted. “If I forget something, you’re not under a vow of silence. _Use_ your rusty people skills, man.” He clapped Angel on the back of the shoulder and led the way into the room.

* * *

More than once, William daydreamed up ways he might escape his filial duties and join Calder in investigating their mission. It felt _important_ , having a mission. It felt validating.

He’d started training under Angel because Calder had thought it would be fun and, just getting his best friend back and being 13, learning to use swords from a vampire had sounded _awesome_. Sometimes he wavered a little, wondering if it was really worth putting his short life in danger when he didn’t feel the same thrill of it that Calder did. At least, not unless they actually rescued someone. In those moments, though, William thought there was nothing more he wanted to do with his life.

And now, not only were higher beings taking notice of him (like last year, when Cordy had been sent to rescue them from the past), but they were giving him an opportunity to be a part of it.

If only he didn’t have to be the soft middle between his mother and grandmother’s subtle-but-grating conflict; then he could actually - you know - _be part of it_.

Although it wasn’t like William couldn’t see his mother’s side. _Maimeó_ did tend to point out even the tiny deviations from perfect living about their lifestyle and activities, which was tiresome, but William also couldn’t figure out why they cared. It wasn’t like her word was law.

But Judith’s word still was, so he kept his plans of freedom to his daydreams when he wasn’t actively engaged in diverting _Maimeó’s_ attention to less guilt-potential topics.

* * *

Calder leaned against the off-white hospital wall and let out a heavy breath. He hadn’t realized that talking to people could take such a toll.

Granted, talking to people didn’t usually involve getting them to tell you about the most traumatic event in their lives in boundary-pushing detail. Calder’s social boundaries were fuzzier than many, but he’d definitely pushed tonight. He didn’t think he liked it.

“You okay?” Angel asked quietly in front of him.

Calder looked up. Angel was tall, and though Calder was not short, he still had to lift his chin to look at Angel’s face. His expression was calm, patient, and mildly concerned, though he probably didn’t realize it; in Calder’s experience, Angel wasn’t much one for showing warm things like concern.

Not in expressions, at least. He showed it in other ways: like in the way he barked at Calder to watch his surroundings when they practiced combat skills, and in the way he once called Calder an idiot for not carrying protection with him (sexual protection - Calder always kept a thin stake and a pocket knife hidden on his person because it made him feel badass). More obviously, it was in the way he’d helped Calder escape the teen gang he’d been involved in, how he’d broken moral rules to ensure Calder’s safe future.

The facial expression of concern was a bit new, but so was the situation.

The first victim was home recovering by now, but Angel knew several of the staff members, who broke privacy rules to fill them in on what they’d overheard. There had been a new victim the previous night, sometime around the time Calder had been getting home from the Dragon’s Crown, so after seeing Victim #2 in post-op recovery (she _had_ been able to afford prosthetics) and then talking to the staff, they went to see Victim #3.

It got worse with each progressive interview, the horrifying facts becoming more real the more they piled up. The victims had all been diagnosed as having psychotic episodes, and ‘psychotic’ was the extent of Calder’s understanding of medical terminology. What he did understand was that each of the women had woken up just after midnight in searing pain, blood everywhere, their feet mutilated.

Self-mutilated, was the professional consensus, since they had all been alone and come awake holding the knives that did it. It was different for each woman: either her left or right foot, either her toes were sliced off or her heel.

The pain, they described, oh _god_ the pain. Like stepping on a Lego, only instead of stepping on it, you’ve jumped off a wall and landed on it. Only instead of one lego driving into one point on the sole of your foot, it’s a thousand legos grating off whole chunks.

None of the victims - which it seemed obvious to Calder that they were, even if the mutilations were self-inflicted - had a history of mental illness or psychiatric episodes. None had a history of sleepwalking. None had been drinking or taken any drugs. None lived near enough to each other to consider environmental causes.

None could offer any explanation for what happened. They each insisted they must have been slipped something and framed, but that of course begged the question, _Why?_

Most notable of all was that all three victims had purchased shoes at a shop called Enchanted Evenings. The third victim had mentioned it in listing the things she’d done that day. The second had said through a slow but steady trickle of tears,

“You know what’s weird? The thoughts that come into your head. It was pain like I’d never-- But then things would flash up like, _I’m not going to be able to wear those great shoes I just bought._ Crazy, right?”

This prompted them to go back to the nurse who’d taken care of the first victim and asked if she’d happened to mention anything about new shoes. She had, and apparently talked at great length about them. It was her job: as it turned out, she _worked_ at Enchanted Evenings.

Leaning against the hospital wall, staring up at Angel, Calder opened his mouth to answer Angel’s question if he was okay.

“Yeah. Let’s go shoe shopping.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was a little after 9pm and _Enchanted Evenings_ had just closed, but there were a few lights on in the back while the staff closed everything out. Angel knocked sharply on the glass until someone came over to see what they wanted.

“Sorry,” the young woman said through the crack in the door, “we’re closed. Please come back tomorrow.”

She tried to pull it shut again, but Angel stuck his foot in the way.

“Ma’am, we’re running an investigation on some incidents we believe are connected with your establishment,” Angel said in his most authoritative tone. “We’re going to need to speak with someone in charge.”

The young woman hesitated, her dark eyes taking them in with uncertainty. The problem with the story, Angel knew, was that Calder still looked like a teenager - or at least too young to be on any kind of task force. He kept talking; the key was distraction.

“Ma’am--” he checked her nametag, “--Lydia, come on, now. We’re just trying to do our job. I know you must have had a long day - we have, too. We only need a few minutes of your manager’s time.”

“Umm,” Lydia shifted her weight to her other foot, glancing back over her shoulder at her curious co-worker behind the counter.

“Unless you want us to write you up for impeding an investigation,” Calder added with a surprising change in voice; a lowered register and an authoritative hardness to match Angel’s. If he didn’t look older, he _sounded_ like it. Angel resisted the instinctive reaction to raise an eyebrow at him. “Like my partner said: it’s been a long day.”

“Oh, uh--” Lydia swallowed. “No-- I’ll go get my manager, okay? Can you wait here?”

Angel and Calder gave her a single nod in tandem, as if they’d rehearsed it, and Angel removed his foot so that she could close and lock the door again. She hurried away, and Angel gave Calder his delayed reaction.

“What?” Calder shrugged a bit haughtily. “I can pretend to be an adult when I have to. You should have seen me at my brother’s wedding last summer. I had half the bride’s side thinking I knew James from work.”

Calder had two brothers, but it was easy for Angel to forget. James was older by 10 years and had left home around the same time the Angel had met Calder, so he wasn’t often mentioned in conversation. Sebastian was younger by not-quite four years, but he was mentioned perhaps even less often, the age gap being beyond Calder’s range of interest to really get to know.

The manager returned quickly, a look of confused concern shadowing her features. She had dark skin and walked tall with the kind of self-confidence that is well honed over several years; everything from her aura to her clothes put together with purpose and take-no-nonsense attitude. She unlocked the door and pushed it open slightly. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

Angel introduced himself and Calder and explained in his best investigator tone what he’d already told Lydia, adding, “Do you mind if we come in and ask you a few questions?”

The manager frowned, confusion turning to suspicion. Her features were structurally soft - a kind of gentle smoothness you might find on a model - but her eyes were both sharp and bright. She seemed like the kind of person who didn’t miss much, and that could be very, very good for Angel and Calder.

“Yes…” she said slowly. “Fine. Come on in.” She stepped back led them wordlessly past shoe displays, benches, and floor-level mirrors, behind the counter with the payment kiosk where Lydia and her co-worker were eyeing them nervously, and into the back office.

It was cramped and cluttered back there, boxes and pairs of shoes stacked from the floor practically to the ceiling, the computer on the desk that was covered with take-out coffee cups and food boxes; piles of computer chips and tablets spread out like paper on the little space that was left. The conversion from paper to digital was supposed to neaten and streamline information, but humans seemed unable to resist their tendency toward chaos.

“Alright,” the manager said. Angel checked her nametag: Ana-Monique. “I want the truth: did someone poison the city water?”

Angel blinked. “What?”

“Did someone,” Ana-Monique repeated slowly, as if to a child, “poison. The water?”

“We’re looking into that,” Calder said quickly. “What do you know about it?”

Ana-Monique pressed a hand to her chest. “Me? What I know is that Ella’s one of my best employees and I’m not buying this spontaneous-mental-illness bullshit her doctors gave her. Excuse the language,” she said in a way that didn’t sound like she cared if they excused the language or not. “Ella’s sane. Reliable. Clean. And I’m supposed to believe she just randomly has a psychotic episode where she chops up her own foot, within weeks of _two_ other first-time foot-choppers?” Ana-Monique shook her head and went to sit at her desk. “My top theory is poison in the water. Though I admit that’s some ultra-specific poison side effects… What do _you_ two know about it?”

A corner of Angel’s mouth turned up appreciatively. “We know that the other two victims also purchased shoes at this store the same day as their episodes.”

That stunned Ana-Monique into silence. She stared at Angel. Then she looked at Calder. Then back to Angel.

“Poison in the A/C ducts?” she finally guessed.

The other corner of Angel’s mouth turned up. “Or something like that,” he replied. “Did Ella seem off to you that day at all?”

Ana-Monique shook her head. “Completely normal. I’ve been racking my brains for clues I missed, but…” She shrugged with her hands. “And I don’t miss much.”

Angel believed it.

“What about unusual interactions with customers?” Calder asked.

Again, Ana-Monique shook her head. “All normal.”

“Unsatisfied customers?” Calder tried.

Ana-Monique sat up and drew the holographic screen out of the tablet on the desk and said as she went through store records, “You think an unhappy customer poisoned the air ducts? You’re really grasping, aren’t you?”

“ _You’re_ the one who keeps talking about poison,” Calder retorted.

Ana-Monique smirked. “ _You’re_ supposed to be the professional.” Before Calder could reply (or Angel could keep Calder from replying), she said, “Here: We had two returns that day… It doesn’t look like Ella processed either of them. One was for a wrong size, the other was an unwanted gift.”

Angel and Calder quickly shared a disappointed look.

“Do you remember anything about the other two victims?” Angel asked. He gave their names, brief physical descriptions, and roughly the times they’d come in the store.

“I’m good,” Ana-Monique said, raising an eyebrow and turning back to the screen, “but not that good. You said they each bought a pair of shoes, right? I can look up transactions for those days; we can at least figure out who sold them the shoes.”

“Yes,” Angel nodded. “They both did.”

Silence. After a long moment, Ana-Monique looked up evenly between the two of them again, waiting. Then she sighed, “What _kind_ of shoes?”

“Oh,” Angel and Calder said together, glancing at each other hopefully.

“Uhhh,” Angel said.

“Nice ones,” Calder told the manager. “Great ones, actually. That’s what she said, right Angel?”

“Right,” Angel nodded. “Great ones.”

“Men,” Ana-Monique sighed again, rolling her eyes. “My job is in management and sales, so I’m contractually required to tell you that _all_ the shoes we sell are great.”

Both Angel and Calder shifted sheepishly. Then Calder suddenly brightened. “Oh! Actually, they said they were ‘perfect.’”

Ana-Monique raised an eyebrow, but intrigued rather than skeptical. “Perfect fits?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Calder nodded.

Ana-Monique suddenly let out a small laugh and went back to her screen, muttering “men” again. She created a blank window and began copying lines of text from her transaction lists on it. “You two probably wouldn’t know, but when it comes to shoes, they hardly ever fit perfectly. It’s always, ‘Well, they’ll break in.’ Ever since Ella two weeks ago, we’ve had a spike in people finding perfect or ‘almost’ perfect fits. It’s been weird.”

“I don’t know, my shoes seem to fit pretty well...” Calder commented.

Ana-Monique rolled her eyes toward Calder, and then down at his worn-down trainers. “You’re a man,” she said, “who apparently hasn’t gotten around to buying a pair of business shoes in a while.” Calder shuffled his feet self-consciously. Ana-Monique went back to her lists. “We’ve had very happy customers, of course. But Ella was the first one to say that it felt like her shoes were custom made for her. The first that I heard about, anyway.”

Was it a spell, then? A spell that made shoes from this store suddenly fit perfectly…? But not all shoes, clearly. And then if the person bought the shoes, they were suddenly compelled to mutilate their own feet? Why?

“It’s weird,” Calder commented. “Like, you buy a pair of perfectly-fitting shoes and then go home and chop up your own feet? It’s not exactly a perfect fit anymore, is it?”

Angel looked at him. An unhappy customer might fit that, too. Angel would have to surreptitiously look into the practitioners he knew about around town.

“It’s a weird coincidence,” Ana-Monique agreed darkly. “Here. These are the sales where people have said the shoes fit them perfectly - or almost perfectly. Maybe there’s poison in the manufacturing process. Like mad hatters.” She said this wryly.

“Can you weed out the ‘almost’ perfects?” Angel asked.

Ana-Monique shook her head. “Not confidently. Which isn’t something I’m used to admitting.”

“It’s okay,” Angel replied. “This is a good start. Thanks.”

Ana-Monique nodded. “So what are you thinking? How far off am I on my poison theories?”

“Maybe not too far,” Angel replied. “Checking out the shoes themselves is a good place to start. We’ll see if all three victims happened to purchase the same pair.”

“Or at least the same brand,” Calder added.

Angel nodded to him in agreement. “A list of your suppliers would be great, too.”

“Printer’s over there,” she jerked her head toward her right and Angel and Calder turned. Angel was still looking for a device on the wall of shelves that could be a printer when Calder walked over and plucked a piece of paper from a small black box. Angel hadn’t even heard it print.

“And…” Ana-Monique said, tapping one final thing on the projection. Her finger went right through, but it registered anyway. “There’s the supplier lists. Anything else?”

“We’d also like to be able to talk to the rest of your employees,” Angel told her while Calder plucked the second piece of paper from the printer and folded them together. “See if they noticed anything.”

Ana-Monique nodded. “I’m not giving you their contact info, but you can come talk to them here, just so long as it’s not too busy. Having a physical storefront these days hinges on customer service. I will be pissed if you lose me a sale.”

“You’ll also be pissed if another person connected to your store loses half their foot, though, right?” Calder asked, though his tone didn’t leave much room for a wrong answer.

The corner of Ana-Monique's mouth turned up again. “That’s true,” she admitted, brushing away the hologram. “We sell half sizes, but not like that.”

Calder snorted appreciatively.

Angel rolled his eyes. “Come on, partner, you can interview the people up front while I take a look around.” He shot a look at Ana-Monique. “You know, while we won’t be interrupting sales time.”

Ana-Monique gave him a grin. “We’ll get along alright.”

Angel and Calder both thanked her, gave her their numbers in case she needed to call, and left the small office. Calder stopped behind the counter to talk to Lydia, who was cashing out (the other co-worker - a young man - was restocking shelves), while Angel wandered around the small store.

The ceilings were tall and the decor was made to look like an old fairytale castle library, only with boxes of shoes instead of books. The shelves didn’t actually make it any higher than arm’s reach, but the top half of the walls were painted to look like the shelves of shoes went up to the ceiling. The shop sold all kinds of shoes: fancy to casual, for all ages, for all genders. Something at the back of Angel’s mind registered that it could be significant that all three victims were in the same demographic, when clearly all demographics were served.

Nothing smelled unusual, although it was hard to pick out anything specific when he didn’t know what he was looking for. But there was a definite sense of magic lingering, and it oddly made him relax. If magic wasn’t the cause, he would have been completely stumped and inclined to go with the “sudden mental illness bullshit” answer that Ana-Monique hated so much.

But no, there was that electric tingle that his senses picked up on as resonant; something of his kind, and in that sense, familiar. He couldn’t get a focus on it, though. It seemed to permeate the entire store equally, even in the back storage room and bathroom. And it didn’t feel inherently evil (or inherently good), just...there. Curses and hexes usually felt evil, so maybe it was a spell they were dealing with. But spells usually focused on a subject; which, Angel supposed, a place to be a subject, but why put a spell on a place? Even spells for prosperity and wealth were usually placed on the owner, not the business.

Calder came over to Angel when he was finished talking to both employees and they called out a good night and thanks as they left. After the door closed behind them, Angel asked if Calder had learned anything interesting as they began walking.

“Nothing,” Calder said. “Although Mike gave me his number.”

Angel grinned teasingly. “You sure about that whole het thing, then? Word must be getting around town about that party.”

“Shut up,” Calder nudged Angel goodnaturedly. “I was making a point.”

“Mm-hm,” Angel agreed lightly, veering toward a door that would take them up to the pedestrian crosswalks. He held it open for Calder. “I remember hearing something about ‘three seconds in heaven’ with...Louis-someone?”

Calder was just ahead of Angel on the stairs and Angel could see Calder’s neck turn pink. He swore softly. “I don’t remember saying that…”

Angel snorted.

“So did you find anything?” Calder asked. They rounded the landing.

“Magic,” Angel replied. “But nothing more specific.”

“What, like a spell?” Calder asked. “Or a curse? Or is one of them a practitioner or something?”

Angel muttered, “I could have sworn I said ‘nothing specific’...”

Calder looked over at him, this time holding the door open for Angel as they left the stairwell. “Oh,” he said. “You _really_ meant ‘nothing.’ Got it.”

Angel glared at Calder. “Hey, I got ‘magic,’ okay? Let’s start there.” He turned right. They were in a hall with access to the businesses on that floor (mostly offices), at the end of which they would find the pedestrian walkways over the streets. Angel only tended to use these walkways when he was out earlier in the evening, when the streets were more crowded and he didn’t want to wait for lights.

“Right,” Calder agreed. “Magic. Not poison. So what’s our next move?”

“You tell me,” Angel said. “This is your case. How are we going to stop the next foot-hacking?”

“Oh, right,” Calder said, and then was silent for a while as they walked, occasionally dodging around other pedestrians. They were halfway across the tunnel-bridge when he said, “Well, it all seems to happen at or around midnight.” He dug into his pocket for the pieces of paper Ana-Monique had given them. Unfolding them and bringing the list of “perfect fit” sales to the front, he said, “The victims were all same-day purchases and mutilations, so we can probably ignore all the sales not from today.” He paused while he scanned the short list and said, “There’s only one. Victor Hale.”

“Hm,” Angel said thoughtfully. “That breaks the demographic.”

“Huh?”

“The first three were women,” Angel replied. They’d reached the other side and turned left along another hall with dark offices to their right. “Three’s a pattern, but not a rule.”

“So I guess we stake out his place tonight?” Calder said.

Angel nodded. “Seems like the thing to do.”

“And tomorrow I’ll go talk to the other employees,” Calder added. “See what they notice about ‘perfect fits.’ I’ll also go back to the hospital and ask the victims which shoes they bought. It’s still possible they’re all the same.”

“That’s good,” Angel nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

Calder cackled gleefully with his Cordy-given power to boss Angel around, and Angel nudged him in the ribs.

“Look into your practitioner friends,” Calder said. “See if any of them are very upset about a recent shoe purchase or something.”

Angel nodded.

“And maybe try to narrow down what kind of magic this is,” Calder added. “We can’t exactly break something if we don’t know what we’re breaking.”

Angel felt a tiny surge of pride that his less practical lessons had actually sunk in with Calder. Calder was smarter than he gave himself credit for, so it could be hard to convince him that he did actually know the answer sometimes. “I’ll do my best,” Angel promised.

Calder gave a sigh that sounded like it carried the same sort of pride, and Calder slung an arm up around Angel’s shoulder. “That’s all I’ve ever asked, Angel.”

“Shut up,” Angel grumbled.


	5. Chapter 5

They were nearly too late to Victor Hale’s flat. They had just under two hours to track him down, and then Calder had had the presence of mind to realize that if they got there and failed to save Victor’s foot - assuming he was the next victim - they’d show up on the building security system as breaking and entering at the time of the crime. So they had to quickly put together glamor charms that would render them invisible to electronics.

This would have caused a terrible problem with transportation trying to get a tram, which was a completely automated system from calling it to getting off at the right stop, except that Angel had purchased _A Mhuirnín_ because she had a manual drive option. A _real_ manual option, with a transmission and gears and everything. Even though it had emptied his bank account, now he could haughtily look Judith Cole in the eye and say, _Worth it_.

Angel parked in front of Victor Hale’s building and he and Calder jumped out and dashed through the front door and into the foyer. They wound their way back to the fire stairs, breaking through the interior door to get to the stairwell, and then they jogged up to the tenth floor where Hale lived.

Calder soon lagged behind and by the time he caught up, out of breath and tripping over his own feet, it was two minutes to midnight and Angel was getting ready to break open the door.

“Clearly we needed breath-silencing charms, too,” Angel said dryly when Calder came to a stop next to him, panting so loudly Angel wouldn’t have been surprised if half the floor wouldn’t wake up.

Unable to speak, Calder just hit Angel in the arm.

Angel tapped the ring on his left middle finger with his thumb. It was an accessory to his Palm, which he could use to project a holographic screen of his Palm onto his...palm. It was fully interactable, though less precise than using the actual device. But just tapping it made the time show up on the wide band, and that was all Angel wanted to check. Just under a minute to go.

“I can open the door for you,” he said quickly to Calder, “but I can’t go in without an invitation. You good on your own?”

Calder gave him a thumbs up.

Angel nodded, gripped the doorknob, and turned it hard. It broke with a sharp but quick _crack_ , and Angel leaned his weight into the door to push it open. It didn’t budge.

“Damn deadbolts,” Angel muttered. He pushed harder against the door and felt the slight give of an older casing: still perfectly fine for keeping out normal thieves, but not for someone like Angel, given a few tries.

Angel stepped back, lined himself up, braced himself for the inevitable shock to his leg - not just from the door but from the threshold - and kicked right where the deadbolt joined the wall and the door. It cracked much more loudly and both of them winced.

“We should have brought Invisibility Cloaks, too,” Calder muttered, looking around nervously.

Angel ignored him and struck one more time. The door flew open.

On the other side was a dark hall, and at the end of the dark hall, a dark figure, plodding slowly along and oblivious to the noise.

“Go,” Angel said quickly. “That’s him.”

Calder dashed in and followed the figure around the corner and out of sight. A moment later, Angel heard Calder shout, “Hey! Hey Victor! Helloooo-- Oh shit.”

Then there was a lot of scuffling, and Angel waited anxiously in the hall, pacing the two steps in front of the doorway while he listened partly to Calder and the struggle inside and partly to the other flats on the hall for any indication that all the noise had attracted alarm. Inside Hale’s flat, Angel could hear scraping like knives and thuds of flesh against various objects. Calder kept swearing, or otherwise saying things like, “I’m trying to _help_ you, mate! Just-- Stop-- _Ow!_ ”

Angel kept an eye on the time, the seconds creeping by like minutes. And then, at 12:01am, the sounds abruptly changed. There was a slackening, a sound like a knife being dropped, and a second man’s voice, woozy and confused. Angel looked up hopefully.

He could just hear Calder’s suddenly quieter, out of breath voice asking if the man was okay, the man asking what happened, and Calder responding tactlessly, “I just stopped you from cutting up your own feet. Hey, what kind of shoes did you buy at Enchanted Evenings today? And would you have said they were a ‘perfect fit’?”

Angel rubbed his forehead with his hand, but Calder got his answers, and after double checking that Hale was okay, took his leave.

“Wait,” Hale’s voice came as the edge of Calder’s figure appeared at the corner of the end of the dark hall again. “Who are you?”

“Me?” Calder asked, and Angel could practically hear the gears in his brain clicking. “I’m just a figment of your imagination,” he said in a low, mysterious voice. Then he turned coolly and slipped into the hall, took a few quiet steps, and then burst forward toward the door.

“ _Run_ ,” he hissed to Angel, grabbing his arm and yanking him down the hall. “Figments of the imagination never get caught!”

Shaking his head and chuckling, Angel dashed after Calder, disappearing with him down the stairs and back into the night.

* * *

Calder called Angel late the next afternoon with an update after he’d gone back to the shop and the hospital. The shoes that the victims had purchased were different styles and different brands, which wasn’t surprising since Victor Hale had purchased a decidedly masculine pair of business shoes. Still, Calder had gone so far as to look up the companies and make sure they weren't all owned by the same mega-corporation.

“No dice,” he’d said. “So it’s not the shoes.”

“That still tells us a lot,” Angel had replied. “Good work. And the other employees?”

That had turned out to be a much more interesting trip. A perfect fit had been found first thing that morning and another one and sold while Calder was there. Calder had managed to get her name and was in the process of tracking down her address. He had asked Ana-Monique (who sternly told him she preferred to be called “Ms. Sheffield”) if there was any way she could get the woman’s address from her payment info, but Ms. Sheffield refused.

“She said there was a way to do it for criminal investigations,” Calder said, “and then I dropped it because she gave me that look that says she knows I’m not actually with the police and she’s already pulling favors for me because it’s her store on the line.”

“That’s probably wise,” Angel told him. “We’ll find her on our own.”

Calder promised to keep looking and Angel promised to let him know about his contacts as soon as he was able to reach them.

* * *

“I’m _just_ saying it for your benefit,” Guinevere held out her hand defensively. “Your hair was so pretty when it was longer; if you wanted to look nice for the other men you’re seeing now…” She gave a little shrug to finish her sentence.

Judith gripped the edge of the counter near her sink so tightly her knuckles turned white. William had left just about 30 seconds before to use the toilet, and suddenly Judith was becoming one of the crazy parents who could barely let their child out of sight long enough go to the bathroom. It was incredible that 30 seconds was all Guinevere needed to turn a seemingly innocent compliment about the color of Judith’s hair into a guilt trip.

Pulling herself together, Judith straightened and picked up the tea kettle into which she’d just dropped a few teabags. “I told you: I’m not seeing anyone now.” It had gotten out the night before at dinner that Judith had gone on a date several months before and Judith was pretty sure her mother would still be talking about it 20 years from now. “And when my hair used to be long, you always made me wear it up so it wouldn’t distract the boys.”

Judith’s hair was technically shoulder length, but it curled in large waves so that it really fell several centimeters below her chin. It was just long enough to clip back when she went to work, but otherwise she tended to wear it loose. When she was young, though, it had reached the top of her hips.

“Well you’re not in school anymore,” Guinevere replied. “And you’ve been blessed with such lovely hair, I don’t know why you don’t let it grow. It would help you look younger.”

Judith filled the kettle with water from the tap that poured near-boiling water. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Speaking of,” Guinevere hedged, “have you heard about that new Japanese diet? Ko-ta-something or other. My friend Harriet Kelley lost 16 pounds in two weeks.”

Judith heard the toilet flush and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good for her,” Judith said, though secretly she was appalled. She carried the tea kettle over to the kitchen table where her mother was sitting and then went to go find cups.

“It’s supposed to be very healthy,” Guinevere continued. “You might want to try it.”

Judith went to the cupboard to find mugs. “I think I’m healthy enough, thanks.”

“Oh, of course, I didn’t say you weren’t, did I? I only meant that it’s good to be proactive about these things.”

“Mm,” Judith agreed as she pulled out three mugs.

“You don’t stay thin forever,” Guinevere continued. She gave a little chuckle that seemed to add, “Well, I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”

As Judith turned around with the mugs to take them to the table, she gave her mother an incredulous look. “Really, Ma? You’re blaming me for not being as thin as I was when I was 16 and a _dancer_?”

Guinevere returned the incredulous look. “ _Blaming_ you? Of course not, Judith, _don’t_ be ridiculous. I only meant that you would know since you work at a _hospital_ , and have seen the horrible things that can happen if you don’t take care of yourself.” She huffed and adjusted in her seat. “I’m just trying to have a conversation with my daughter - maybe if she spoke in full sentences and didn’t assume things, we could _actually_ have a conversation.”

Judith tried to set the mugs on the table gently, but they ended up rapping rather sharply on the surface. Sure, she was assuming things. But she didn’t think she was wrong about her assumptions. Her mother’s conversations didn’t happen in words: words were merely vehicles. And she was used to slights on physical appearance: vanity was a road that led to Hell. Having properly low self-image was protective, to Guinevere.

“Right,” Judith said anyway. “Sorry. My mistake. I’ll get the cream.”

Judith had pulled the cream pitcher out of the back of her cupboard and was fetching the cream from the fridge when William returned, taking up the seat across from his grandmother.

“William keeps nice and fit,” Guinevere observed with an approving smile. “Do you play sports? Your mother hasn’t mentioned that you do, but I’m finding there are a lot of things she hasn’t mentioned to me.”

Judith pressed the fridge door shut harder than she meant to.

“Nope,” William replied. “Not games-type sports. I do some martial arts, though.”

“Really?” Guinevere’s eyebrows shot up. “Well. That’s _another_ thing I didn’t know. Such an educational visit. Tell me about it, William.”

Perhaps Judith should have stayed Catholic: then she would have had someone to pray to for patience.

* * *

None of Angel contacts revealed anything, although he hadn’t much expected them to. Practitioners generally didn’t broadcast their plans unless they were looking for casting help. He asked about Macky Dempsey, too, and no one had heard anything about him, either.

“Did you check the registry?” one demon asked.

“Who actually registers, though?” Angel shrugged skeptically.

“People who think they have to,” the demon replied.

Angel filed the idea away as something to look into. Macky Dempsey was dead - Angel had more pressing matters to deal with.

Even more pressing after the phone call he got from Ana-Monique Sheffield around 8:30. He was in the sewers looking into his contacts, since it was much too early for demons to be showing up to the Dragon’s Crown, and the reception wasn’t great, but he did get the clear message that there had been _another_ perfect fit sale that day.

Angel got the woman’s name and cursed after he hung up the phone, trying to think about what to do as he splashed through the tunnels. Calder was on the trail of the other two Perfect Fits and would be staking out one of them tonight while Angel was going to try to wrangle an invite into the second’s flat. He’d been thinking about trying to pose as a delivery guy of some sort to get the invitation earlier on in the evening and then go back later to break in, but he couldn’t think of anything that would require him needing to bring it _into_ her home instead of leaving it at the door. At least, nothing he wanted to spend money on for the effect. All the other scenarios that ran through his head ended up sounding like the setup of a porn film.

But now there was a third to contend with.

Nothing for it, they’d have to call in William. It was half his case, after all, and Angel and Calder had respectfully stayed away from the idea of taking William away from Judith until they had to, and now they had to.

It was a profoundly unnerving prospect.

“ _You_ do it, I’ll wait in the car,” Calder had said when Angel brought this up to him as they were making new electronics-invisibility charms. “And if you try to argue, I pull rank.”

So it was decided, and they piled into _A Mhuirnín_ and left for William’s flat around 10:30.

William’s building had an attached garage with parking spaces for visitors, but it was faster for Angel to park on the street. When he stopped in front of their building, the engine had barely died before he hopped out and grabbed one of the swords from the back seat, thinking that if he looked more heroic it would help his case in extracting William. According to Calder, William had decided to wait until it was necessary to tell Judith he might get called away (although he _had_ admitted to going for drinks with Calder and Angel instead of patrolling).

He took the stairs two at a time, though with each step his courage thinned like mountain air.

Until their relationship had passed into the Friendship territory a little over a year ago, Judith Cole had intimidated Angel much the same way Joyce Summers had. She was a mother, and mothers made Angel nervous. They were fierce and cunning and before Angel had become a parent himself, hadn’t really understood the mysterious power that drove them, which made them all the more unnerving. Before Darla became his vampiric, twisted version of a mother, Angel’s own human mother had taught him the power in subtlety and subversiveness. All of these things that Angel had to learn, mothers just seemed to _be_.

And so, as he rushed upward, Angel’s sense of the situation quickly became less about breaking his friend Judith Cole’s wish and more about snatching a cub from the den of a mother grizzly.

Angel didn’t think the sword in his hand was going to be enough.

Angel sent out all the positive thoughts for William answering the door that he could, but they didn’t work. When Judith saw him standing there, sword in hand, she crossed her arms and gave him a defiant look that plainly said, _No_.

“Judith…” Angel said cautiously, the way he might offer the grizzly a bowl of blackberries.

“Have you forgotten what I said?”

“No,” Angel replied quickly. The answer to that question was always _No_.

“What did I say?”

“You said I can’t have William at all until Monday night.”

Judith inclined her head once. “And what is tonight?”

“Friday.”

“Very good, Angel.” Damn she was good at that condescending-mother tone. “We’ll see you on Monday, then.”

She started to close the door, but Angel stuck out a hand to stop it. William appeared behind Judith in the doorway between the small foyer and the living room, looking confused.

“Judith,” Angel started again. “I swear I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important. We need him.”

“Why?” Judith sighed like she couldn’t believe she was even humoring him.

“You know the foot mutilations? It’s not spontaneous psychosis, it’s magic, and we’ve got a lead. Three leads, actually. We need William to take one of them; Calder and I can’t be in three places at once. Plus, Cordy had a vision, and it’s his duty.”

An expression of mild surprise flickered over her face.

“Judith,” Angel said her name again. It helped to use her name: both in psychologically softening her and in naming the thing that he was afraid of. He steepled his hands together under his chin in supplication, the hilt of the sword he’d been carrying pressed between his fingers. He gave her his best _I’m very very sorry_ expression.

“He’ll be back before morning,” Angel promised. “He could help save a foot tonight.”

Judith checked the clock on her Palm bracelet. Then she drew in a resigned breath and said, “I suppo--”

“William, Judith? What are you doing out h-- Oh.” An older woman with silvery white hair and the same blue-grey eyes as Judith came up in the doorway beside William. She was wearing a dressing robe over her nightgown, but in her astonishment at seeing Angel, seemed to forget to be embarrassed about it. “Who are you?” she asked the man in the doorway wearing a black leather coat and holding a sword under his chin as if in prayer.

There was a moment of ringing silence before Angel said, “...Angel.”

“Angel?” Judith’s mother frowned at him in deep confusion. She eyed the weapon in his hands. “You’ve got a sword,” she observed. She crossed her arms over herself and tilted her head in a way Angel knew that mothers meant to say, _Explain yourself_.

“Yeah,” Angel hesitated, glancing down at the sword between his fingers. “I’m...a knight.” He tried not to see the looks of incredulity Judith and William were giving him. Well they weren’t helping him out, were they? They could critique when they came up with something better.

“A knight,” Judith’s mother repeated.

“Yeah,” Angel said again. “...Of the cross.” Because look at his stance. He decided much too late that he should probably lower his arms now. He did, slowly.

“A knight of the cross? Named Angel?”

Did the woman know how to say anything beyond repeating him? Angel looked desperately between Judith and William for help. Most of the color seemed to have drained from Judith’s face and her eyes were wide with silent horror, so it was William who jerked to life.

“Angel’s the guy that trains me in martial arts, _Maimeó_. Like I was telling you earlier. He…” but William faltered, too, in the face of finding a reasonable excuse that a leather-clad guy with a sword was swinging by at bedtime asking the teenager to come out for a bit that didn’t involve parties, drinking, and certainly not slaying of any kind.

“Look,” Angel turned to Judith, hating himself a little bit for leaving her to deal with it alone, but they were on a bit of a deadline. “We really need William. It won’t take long. It’s for a good cause.”

Judith’s mother stepped forward on her slippered feet, scrutinizing Angel the same way Judith often had. “Are you Catholic?” she asked.

Angel had a feeling that the correct answer was, “Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” but he wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this. So instead he replied, truthfully, “Born and raised.” And then died. His religion had not been reborn with him.

“A Knight of the Cross, you say? And you’re training my grandson?”

Angel nodded. That _was_ what he said. And yes he was.

“Well,” she squared her shoulders matter of factly. “He’d better go with you, then.”

Judith gave Angel such a look of disbelief that he almost stepped back. He looked at William instead, who looked at Judith.

“Mum?”

She gave a short sigh. “Yes, of course. Go on.”

As William rushed forward to get his jacket from the coat tree by the door, Angel looked at Judith again.

“Thank you,” he said with all the sincerity he could. He thought about adding something else, but he didn’t really want to risk saying anything that could dig him further into the hole.

* * *

Angel and Calder briefed William on the drive to his stakeout, handing him a charmed coin to keep off any surveillance footage, and Calder related in as much detail as he could the struggle he’d had with Victor Hale the previous night.

“I was watching the clock,” Angel said when Calder had finished, concluding unhelpfully that he had no special tips for handling the incident. “Everything stopped at 12:01 exactly. Some spells are like that: if it doesn’t happen at midnight, it doesn’t happen.”

“So just...hold ‘em off for 60 seconds,” Calder said, nodding at this plan.

“A lot can go wrong in 60 seconds,” William said darkly.

“He’s right,” Angel agreed. “Try to keep the noise down.”

Calder rolled his eyes. “Right, Mr. Silent-as-the-Night…”

They dropped Calder off first and Angel went into the building with him to break any locks in his way. This flat had a deadbolt, too, but Angel had hit up one of his shadier contacts for a magnetic bolt-slider. He made sure Calder knew how to use it and then left him to find a place to hide for the next hour.

William’s assignment lived in one of the townhouses in Renmore, which would be more difficult to sneak _up_ to but easier to sneak _in_ to. On the way over, Angel asked William how it was going with his grandmother.

“Oh…” William sighed. “Okay, I guess. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were just me and her.” He paused to think about his grammar and then corrected, “Her and me. But Mum’s been so uptight about everything and it’s exhausting.”

“It’s exhausting to have a houseguest you don’t get along with,” Angel said sympathetically. “Especially when it’s someone like your mother. You’re lucky you get along with yours.”

William turned in his seat beside Angel to look at him. “Did you get along with your mother?”

Angel chuckled wryly. His relationships with mothers were complicated, to say the least. He mostly blamed Darla for all the Oedipal confusion, but in truth, vampire families were just like that. There were strong authoritarian structures kept in place by everyone playing sexual power games with everyone else. Angel knew William was asking about his human mother - he would never have thought to include Darla in the question - but it was so long ago Angel had a hard time remembering.

“Okay, I think,” he finally answered. “It was my father I didn’t get along with, and my mother had little power to intervene. We got on well enough when I was a kid ‘cause, you know, she fed me and tended my scrapes, but...things changed when I grew up. Not really for the better. I think she disapproved of me but also disapproved of how my father tried to get me to stop.”

“That’s a hard place to be,” William said softly. “I think _Maimeó_ tries to get Mum to change but she doesn’t really know how, either… Were you really Catholic?”

“Born and raised,” Angel repeated. “The whole Irish Catholic guilt thing wasn’t as much of a thing back then, though. I mean sure, there were strict rules and everything, but it was also outlawed, so the focus was more on keeping Catholicism alive instead of making practicing Catholics ‘better.’ I think your mom got a worse dose of the religion than I did.”

William thought about that in silence a while as they drove, and soon they had arrived at the townhouse William would be staking out. Angel drove right past it, although they both looked at it, taking in whatever details they could.

“I think she’s watching TV,” William said, untwisting himself.

“I’m going to park near the tram stop,” Angel said. “We’ll walk back in.” Much as he loved _A Mhuirnín_ and was reticent to admit anything like a shortcoming, she _was_ conspicuous; especially for a middle class neighborhood.

William was not as good as Calder at looking like he belonged in a place he knew he didn’t belong. Angel had to nudge him a few times to get him to relax and he ended up leaving him to kneel behind some bushes while Angel scaled the fence into the long communal backyard to go and figure out a way to get William inside by midnight.

“There’s a hot tub,”Angel whispered when he returned. “You can sit behind it and go in through the back door just before midnight. She just went upstairs; I unlocked the door for you.”

William bit his lip and looked up at Angel with nothing short of terror in his wide eyes.

“Hey,” Angel said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You think you’ve got it bad? I have to go invite myself into a stranger’s house at midnight. You’ll be fine: all the houses are dark already.”

William swallowed and nodded, though he didn’t look especially reassured.

“I have more than enough faith in you, my Knight-of-the-Cross-in-training.” Angel smiled a little, squeezing William’s shoulder.

The corner of William’s mouth twitched in response, and he nodded.

“If you get caught,” Angel said as his hand slid off William’s shoulder, “you can drop my name to the authorities. Have them look up my ID.”

“What _does_ it say?” William asked, tilting his head in bewilderment.

Angel half-smiled. “Something along the lines of Do Not Mess With.” At William’s continued look, Angel added, “Those of us demons who can pass as humans usually get human IDs, but there’s an issue with the birthdays thing, being immortal. There’s a guy who gets them for us, and for an extra charge he’ll add...perks.”

“Like criminal immunity?” William asked, looking a lot like Judith when she suspected moral questionability.

“It’s not _total_ immunity,” Angel replied. “But it is enough that I can pull strings for you, if it comes to that. Breathe, kid. Relax. Save a foot.”

William smiled up at Angel and nodded. Angel gripped his shoulder one last time and then stood up and left, hurrying toward his car with 39 minutes to midnight.

* * *

Angel drove north to the newest, greenest section of town. It spanned several old neighborhoods, but the only thing that had survived the development of the eco-city were the names, and those only barely. Colloquially and collectively called “Uptown,” the old neighborhood names existed to differentiate subsections of this city-within-a-city. Angel parked in the _An Pháirc Mhór_ neighborhood at the edge of a park, which had thriving community gardens and children’s playground equipment made of entirely recycled materials.

In the past 100 years, there had been legislation around the world to ban gasoline engines, and several countries had managed it, but Ireland had not been one of them. In the end, though, technology advanced and electric became the cheaper option all around, so most people switched over anyway. And so Angel, old-fashioned and clinging to the idea of manual transmissions and gently purring cars, joined the ranks of “That Loud Asshole With Too Much Money and Too Little Conscience.”

In Uptown, though, gas engines _were_ banned, so Angel had to switch the hybrid engine over to the electric version of his car that was boringly silent and smooth.

The park where he left his car was in the southern end of Uptown, and it was close to both the residence of his Perfect Fit customer and a nightclub called Decade, where Angel knew the owner. As a vampire herself, Angel thought that this case probably intrigued her as much as it intrigued him.

Angel slung his sheathed sword over his back, the strap pressing across his chest. He took a brief second to adjust the necklace he wore under his shirt - a leather cord with the talon of the first demon Connor had killed in Quor’toth - so it was more comfortable, then made sure his car was locked before taking off at a quick jog.

Eco villages like this one had been trending around the world for over 150 years, and as air pollution measures became more efficient, noise and light pollution measures soon followed. Galway’s version of an off-the-grid city attempt was one of the more modern ones, so as Angel jogged, he did so in near silence - comparatively speaking. Despite the cars, trams, and open businesses like bars and nightclubs, the noisiest thing that Angel passed were the people, and even their laughter seemed muffled in the sound-deadening vegetation that snaked up the buildings and half-hedges that lined the sidewalks like forest paths. Shoes hardly made thuds, taps, or even scuffles on the recycled something-or-other pavement that glowed solar-rechargeable bioluminescent...stuff. Throbbing nightclub music and late-night coffee venues featuring local bands were each their own container of cacophonous pulsing that Angel could only hear if someone happened to open the door as he passed.

It was when he rounded the corner of the street where Decade ran its nightly business and also where Miss Gemma Moon (proud new owner of a perfectly fitting pair of lace-up stilettos) lived that Angel saw the unicorn.

He stopped dead in his jog, blinking several times to be sure he was seeing it right: a small white unicorn figurine, about the size of one of those little dogs that people liked to stuff in their purses, cantering in circles about the sidewalk as if it were out for a night on the town. It was trailing glittery blue-pink fairy dust.

Angel swore to himself. Hadn’t Calder said he’d handled this?

The unicorn was attracting a bit of attention from passersby, people looking around to see who the owner of the rampant toy was. A few, noticing Angel with the sword strapped to his back, nodded at him to get the thing out of everyone’s way with a look of, _What do you think you’re doing?_

“I’m--” Angel whimpered to himself, “just trying to save some toes…”

He started to approach the wayward unicorn when a hooded figure on the other side of it poked its head out from the narrow gap between Decade on the far side and some closed business on the near side, looking frantically up and down the sidewalk. The figure made a triumphant-sounding noise when it spotted the unicorn and started running for it. The unicorn, noticing and apparently not wanting to get caught, pranced almost cartoonishly in alarm and bolted. Straight toward Angel.

Casually, Angel bent as if to tie his shoe and just as the unicorn was passing him, he reached out and snatched it.

It was surprisingly strong for what felt like a porcelain figurine; Angel quickly had to grab it with both hands. It was definitely not a toy. Aside from the obvious mobility issues of porcelain, the thing thrummed with magic.

The hooded figure skidded to a stop about a dozen feet from Angel, clearly hesitant about approaching him.

“Hey!” Angel called, holding up the thrashing unicorn. “Seriously?”

The figure turned and ran. Angel sighed, swearing lightly under his breath. If Gemma Moon woke up without toes, he was blaming the tiny unicorn and its handler. He ran after the person with the cloak streaming out behind them. They must have been a sight - Angel with his sword and the glitter-shedding unicorn, and the cloaked person clinging desperately to the hood to keep it covering their face - but that sort of sight wasn’t all that unusual for Uptown. The residents were upscale and modern, but the nightlife was often...well, a lot like right now.

The hooded figure ducked back into the gap they’d come from. Angel followed. The small gap was made narrower by the leafy vines growing up the sides of the buildings, and either end of Angel’s sword whacked at the leaves as he ran past. The unicorn, seeming to sense that it was being brought closer to whatever it was that it was escaping, thrashed doubly hard in Angel’s hands. Something sharp on it - the swinging stirrups, maybe? - suddenly bit into Angel’s hand and he yelled in surprised pain, dropping the figurine. Angel stumbled around the unicorn as it regained its footing (whatever the ground was made of, it wasn’t so hard that the porcelain broke - or maybe the magic had strengthened it) and wove between Angel’s legs, dashing back toward the street.

Angel paused, swearing as he watched it go, but decided that the person was more important. He turned and ran flat out toward the figure, which had just dashed to the right, away from Decade’s back entrance (which was fortunate - the back entrance was for live food. And for vampire patrons bringing their own live food. Decade was not a usual nightclub).

He caught up with the figure soon after he rounded the corner himself, grasping the cloth and yanking the person back into a leaf-covered wall.

Angel pulled back the hood and didn’t try to conceal his look of surprise.

It was a teenage girl. Her messy, dark blonde hair was falling out of its ponytail and her eyes were wide and dark with fear.

They stared at each other for a long moment in shock before Angel asked, “What the hell are you doing?” at the same time as the girl demanded, “Let me go!”

“No!” Angel said at the same time as the girl said, “Nothing!”

Angel sighed in frustration. “I’m older, I get to go first,” he said, and put an easy two and two together. “You’re Macky Dempsey’s daughter, right?”

The girl’s eyes widened in shock, so Angel took that for a _yes_.

“Okay,” Angel continued, “Jodie Dempsey, I’m only going to repeat myself one time: What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

“Umm,” she whimpered. Jodie was breathing hard and glanced nervously to her left, toward the nightclub. In his peripheral vision, Angel saw a couple slip into the back door. She cursed under her breath and looked back at Angel. “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, sucking in a breath that was half a sob. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone, I just want my dad back.”

“Shit _,_ ” Angel muttered. “I thought Calder talked to you about that?”

Again, the girl looked stunned. “C-Calder? How do you--? I mean yes, he-- Who _are_ you?”

Angel gave her an unfriendly smile. “I’m Angel, Calder’s vampire friend. Didn’t he mention me? _Anyway_ , you were suppose to stop this insane attempt to zombify your dad, remember?”

Jodie’s jaw clenched defiantly and she narrowed her eyes at him. (To her credit, Angel thought. If you believed enough in magic to attempt to use it, vampires weren’t a big step away. And he still had her by the robes against the wall.)

“I can make it work!” she insisted.

“ _No_ ,” Angel replied, “you _really_ can’t, and I _don’t_ have time to stand around arguing about it.” According to the position of the sun under them, he had about 20 minutes to get that invite to Gemma Moon’s flat. Jodie probably needed the unicorn for the spell, which she was unlikely to be able to catch at this point (unless she had some other magical trick of unicorn-wrangling up her sleeve, but he doubted it). Assuming she could catch it, she’d need to hold onto it long enough to finish her spell, which - like any good dead-raising spell should - would require full concentration. A flailing, biting, kicking unicorn would certainly break that. Angel had other people to save.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” Angel slowly let go of Jodie’s robes. “I will be back here in half an hour to make sure you’ve cleared out. Tomorrow, Calder’s going to have another talk with you about how stupid this whole thing is. And I’m never going to hear about you attempting this ever again. Got it?”

Jodie’s eyes shifted, but, wisely, she nodded. She reached up to straighten the robes on her shoulders and made a face when her left fingers came away sticky with blood.

Angel looked at his right hand - the one that had been injured - and was surprised to see it was bleeding. He squinted at the wound in the dim light: it looked like it was made from teeth marks and was lined with fine blueish, pinkish glitter. He’d _actually_ been bitten? By a porcelain unicorn?

Angel tried to remember the last time he’d had a night this strange.

Rubbing his forehead with his other hand, Angel said in a softer tone, “Jodie, your father’s dead. I’m sorry, but you’ll get over it. Trying to get him back now isn’t worth the damage you’ll cause.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but Angel was very good at ignoring tears.

“I’ve gotta go save other people now, so I’m letting you go. But I mean it: go home and go to grief counseling.”

Angel let her go, backing away, and then he left, heading back for the street. He took advantage of the dark walk down the gap to regather his thoughts and wipe the blood off his hand before emerging back onto the glowing sidewalk. Fine blue and pink unicorn glitter sparkled gently on his clothes in the soft light.

The line to get into Decade was long and filled with black-haired, pierced, tattooed, and leather-clad patrons, waiting for the doors to open in - Angel quickly checked his Palm ring - 19 minutes. Most of the human patrons - even the regulars - never knew what went on in the back that Angel would have instant access to if he went in. The club was a front, and its success paled to the business Emily Slipp - vampire and local business owner - ran for her kindred under its skirts.

Yes, Angel had patronized the place himself, on occasion. The humans who made it to the back went willingly, and - especially in his wholehearted commitment to withdrawing from the human race - that was all the justification he’d needed. The whole goth vibe really wasn’t Angel’s thing, but sometimes a vampire just needed to be a vampire. Also, the dungeon Emily ran in the - well, dungeon - was well known as _the_ one to go to in Ireland. Vampires even sometimes came from abroad to host kink parties in the well-equipped, clean, atmospheric rooms. It was expensive, but when the mood struck it was well worth the price.

So Angel had gotten to know Emily Slipp through his infrequent but regular patronage, and since both of them had names and reputations in the vampire world, they were each on the other’s list of Vampires I Should Keep Tabs On. After whatever happened at Gemma Moon’s place, Angel would come back to talk to Emily, who was in an excellent position to know things that could help.

Back on track to stopping a foot-mutilating curse, Angel moved quickly past the line of excited 20-somethings, his gut twisting in disgust at the fashion and at the sudden swell of conscience that was rising around the whole thing. What were his human friends doing to him?

Angel heard his name and glanced around. Just up ahead was a vampire he knew, waiting in line with his arm around a girl with blue streaks in her black hair and a silver nose ring.

“Justin,” Angel said as he approached, and the vampire winced dramatically, his angular face scrunching and distorting the tribal tattoo lines running from his left temple down to his jaw.

“Oh, _Angel_. You _stake_ me.” He mimed stabbing himself in the heart with a stake with his free hand.

“Why?”

“I _told_ you mate, I changed my name. Remember? _Snake!_ ”

“Ohhh right...” Angel tried not to roll his eyes. Ju-- “Snake” was the kind of vampire that Angel tolerated being around for the connections he offered. Gregarious and shameless, he knew everyone and was likeable enough (or at least useful enough) that no one could really say they hated him to the point of actually ripping his head off.

“Yeah,” Snake continued, “I chose it ‘cause it’s _Biblical_ , you know? Like you! Gotta mock the man upstairs, huh?”

Angel made a noncommittal noise and opened his mouth to excuse himself.

“Oh, sorry, Angel, this is Delilah. Delilah, Angel.” He lowered his voice in her ear, but of course, Angel could hear anyway. “He’s a vampire, too, but he’s got a soul, so he’s a little…” Snake made a gesture to indicate something like “mentally unsound,” and then burst out laughing. “But we like him anyway. You coming in tonight, Angel?” Giving him a skeptical once over, he added, “I dunno that the glitter will fly with Emily…”

“No,” Angel said, self-consciously trying to brush the glitter off his clothes, but it only stuck to his hand. He lowered his voice to ask, “And shouldn’t you be using the back?”

“Oh,” Snake grinned like he was sharing a secret, “we’ll get there eventually. We’re meeting some of her friends first.” Snake winked. “You should come!”

“No thanks,” Angel said. “Actually, I’m kinda busy looking into those foot mutilations. You don’t happen to know anything about it, do you?”

“Ohhhh!” Snake’s eyes lit up. “No, but I _wish_ I did! Brilliant, no?”

“Yeah,” Angel agreed halfheartedly. “But I mean, it’s gotta be a curse, right?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say hell yeah,” Snake nodded thoughtfully. “What human’s that strong and neat on their own, you know?”

“Neat?” Angel asked.

“Yeah, I mean, haven’t you seen the pictures?”

Angel shook his head.

“Aw, man,” Snake took his arm off Delilah to dig out his Palm. " _Everyone’s_ been posting them… Here.”

He showed Angel the screen with the crime scene photos, and Angel took it, thumbing through them slowly. It was...very neat. The blood loss was shockingly minimal, and the exposed bones were so smoothly cut, it looked like they’d been sliced with a diamond blade. The flesh was similarly smooth: no strips or ragged edges, and the only irregular thing being the tiny, oozing droplets of blood. The victim who’s heel had been cut off looked like it had been done with a ruler and protractor.

Angel frowned. “Can you send these to me?”

“ _Yeah_ , of course!” Snake exclaimed, taking the Palm back. “They’re great, huh? I mean, more blood would have been nice, but you’ve gotta appreciate the effort they went to for that kind of effect. Inspired. There, I sent them to you.”

In confirmation, Angel’s pocket buzzed.

“Thanks,” he said. “Let me know if you hear anything else, will you?”

“Definitely.”

Angel started to move away.

“Hey!” Snake called after him, and Angel turned. “How come you never come around anymore? It’s been ages!”

Angel shrugged. “Got busy.” Got attached.

“Get _un_ -busy!”

Angel let out a hollow _Ha_ of laughter and then waved in farewell as he turned.

If he’d thought the night couldn’t get any weirder, he was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

First toe-decapitations, then unicorns and teenagers in forested alleys, and now… Angel’s human and long-dead mother stood on the effervescent sidewalk in front of him, looking about as shocked as when he’d drained her dry almost 500 years before.


	6. Chapter 6

Brona Magann stood stiffly in the middle of Galway’s glowing sidewalk, staring at Angel with a stony expression, yet with horror in her dark eyes. Angel had learned far too late how to read those eyes. By the time he realized she’d always been on his side, her heart was beating its last.

“Liam,” she breathed, barely a whisper in the crowd, but Angel heard it like he was still her child.

Angel swallowed thickly. _How_ was this what his night had turned into?

Was this penance for taking William away from Judith?

He took a step forward, but she flinched.

“Hey, Angel!” Snake called behind him. “You’re blocking traffic, mate, wake up!”

Angel was indeed blocking pedestrian traffic, but so was Brona, with her wide 18th century skirts. They were the same pale green of the dress he’d killed her in. But the call brought Angel to his senses. He didn’t have _time_ for this.

He strode forward the few steps between them, making to grab her wrist and pull her to the side, but his hand went right through her skin. Angel held up his hand in shock, looking at it while Brona stumbled a few steps further backward, also staring at his hand in shock. Angel reached out and tried again, this time for her shoulder. Again, it went right through.

“God in heaven…” Brona whispered breathlessly, and then she fainted.

* * *

Basically, William thought that the whole situation sucked. A lot.

He had made it down the ridiculously long lawn and ducked behind the hot tub of the victim, Penelope Gardner’s house, and then he had to just...sit there. Thinking non-breaking-and-entering thoughts while the door whose lock Angel had broken loomed over him like a judge.

Yes, he was there to save someone from self-mutilation. It would be worth it and justified, morally speaking. But all the talk about being Champions for Good and getting actual _missions_ from a _Seer_ made it sound like there’d be a lot more Eureka-moment problem-solving and charging into battle, sword upraised, than crouching among the spiders waiting to steal into someone’s house like a thief. William had had enough of the sneaking around thing when he and Calder had had to steal the Hyperion Hotel key from under Frank the bellhop’s nose.

Also, feet were a much less dignified thing to save than lives. Still important. But still feet.

But more than that, it was that William was only just joining the effort _now_. Cordy had given the assignment to _both_ of them. He would have liked the chance to practice interrogation and piecing clues together with Calder and Angel (who, to be fair, had been going to wait for William, but then the third victim happened and that understandably pushed things forward). Instead, he’d been stuck at home mediating between his mother and grandmother, who were both adults, thanks. He was upset toward his own mother, and that hadn’t happened in a long time.

It was just that...William and his mother had had some difficult times when William was younger, mostly around the time of the divorce (which was hard on everyone), but they had worked through it. So why couldn’t his mother work things out with _her_ mother? Why did it take foot mutilations for William’s mother to grudgingly let him go?

William was aware that being upset both for being where he was now, helping (like in his daydreams), _and_ having been kept at home _not_ helping was contradictory. But it was how he felt.

He also wished he could have Calder or Angel’s confidence about this whole thing. It felt like William’s mother was there, staring down at him like the door, demanding to know if _this_ was what he agreed to when he said he would help people.

And the proof that it was worth it hinged on him actually being successful. What if they’d gotten the wrong house? What if he couldn’t hold it off the whole 60 seconds? Calder had said that Victor Hale was “weirdly strong and super-determined.” William didn’t think he had enough of either of those things to match.

William sighed heavily, shifting in the pebbles, and checked the time on his Palm bracelet.

Fourteen minutes to go.

* * *

For the first time, Angel was able to emphatically say that he loved living in the future. Incorporeal woman dressed in 18th century clothing laying in the middle of a crowded sidewalk?

“Hologram.” Angel smiled charmingly at the concerned and confused passersby. “Just testing a new prototype. Don’t worry, just a hologram... Hologram, folks... Yeah, it’s good, isn’t it? It’s a hologram.”

Unable to do anything to revive her, Angel was forced to wait, hiding his own confused anxiety as he explained the hologram situation to each new wave of passing people until Brona O’Flanagan woke on her own, which fortunately wasn’t more than a minute. (Only thirteen, now, until midnight.)

She sucked in a sharp breath when she saw Angel kneeling above her, looking at him with the kind of terror that one might a rabid animal. Did she know? It was the dress he’d killed her in, but of course she’d worn it more than once.

“Are you okay?” Angel asked.

She didn’t respond right away, and Angel, in his impatience, didn’t give her much chance.

“Can you stand? People are-- Just a hologram; working on a new theatrical program, thanks-- Kind of worried. And we’re in the way.”

Brona looked at the people passing by, eyes darting between them and the buildings and Angel and back to the people. She must have been terrified - Angel couldn’t smell it, since she didn’t have a physical body, but who wouldn’t be? - but she nodded slightly, pushing herself up to a sitting position, and then dizzily to a standing position. Angel, standing also, nodded toward the nearest building, and she followed him to stand by the wall.

“Liam,” she said again before they even reached it.

Angel hadn’t been called “Liam” since he’d died. Darla had refused to call him that, saying (rightly) that it wasn’t him anymore. In the two weeks between rebirth and his sister’s inspiration for his new name, Darla had simply called him, “Dear Boy,” or some variation thereupon.

“Look,” Angel said, turning as he reached the leaf-covered wall, “I’m not--”

“You killed me.” She said it with more surprise and hurt than anger, but Angel flinched as if she’d yelled it.

He caught her eyes. They had the same eyes and the same colored hair, but that was about all they had in common, physically. Where he was broad and tall, she was willowy and short. Where his face was wide and square, hers was narrow and pinched. He wasn’t much like her in personality, either. Perhaps the jokes that he’d been a fairy changeling had some merit.

Angel swallowed, the knot of guilt that he’d worked over countless times since getting his soul rising to the surface, polished with attention and emotional handling, but no less sharp. “Yeah,” he admitted.

“And your father. Your _sister_.”

Angel shifted, looking away. Yeah, he’d _done_ this guilt trip. So many times. Gemma Moon needed him. “Yeah,” he said again. “Look--”

“ _Why_ , Liam?” she whispered.

Angel sighed uncomfortably. “I became a vampire. Vampires are evil. I mean, _I’m_ not evil anymore and I’m kind of on a mission, here, so--”

“Missions?” Brona repeated, narrowing her eyes in deep confusion.

“Not missions like a missionary, _a_ mission. I’m rescuing someone. And I only have ten minutes to do it, so can we…?” He gestured pointedly down the sidewalk and started walking.

Brona swayed like she wanted to step backward again, but then she followed. “Vampire,” she muttered. “And this..?” she looked around at the buildings and the people - many of whom were dressed for a night at Decade and queuing up in line.

“462 years in the future,” Angel answered.

Brona _did_ stumble at that, and Angel thought she might faint again. He even jerked instinctively to catch her before he remembered he couldn’t.

“I need a seat,” she said weakly, looking around for a chair that didn’t exist.

“Actually, we need to move faster,” Angel told her. “Really, a girl is in trouble.”

Brona looked him with a deep confusion that Angel had seen many times before on many different faces.

“Alright,” Angel sighed, “I’ll explain how it is that a vampire is trying to help people, but _can we move faster?_ ”

Brona hesitated, then lifted her skirts a few inches and quickened her step, and Angel tried to tell his mother his unlife story on the way toward Gemma Moon’s flat.

* * *

Angel gave into the surrealism of his situation by the time they reached the lifts in Gemma Moon’s building. Explaining souls and choice in practically the same breath as the general concept of elevators to the woman who was just killed by him was the kind of task that Angel thought only existed in sitcoms.

It only got worse from there.

Angel hadn’t had any time to explain the strange curse he was trying to stop, so when the lift doors opened, he dashed out and down the hall to number 1206, leaving Brona behind to follow if she chose. With seven minutes to go, he slung the sword off his back and leaned it against the wall (figuring being unarmed would help him seem more trustworthy of an invitation inside, and rapped sharply on the door, breathing a sigh of relief at hearing music on the other side. At least she was awake.

The door opened just as Brona caught up with him and Angel choked in shock.

It appeared that Gemma Moon had company. Or a roommate. Or a _someone_ of a male variety. Whoever he was, he was naked, and Angel had _definitely_ interrupted something...exciting.

Behind him, Brona sucked in a small breath of horror.

“Hi,” Angel said quickly. “Sorry, but...does Gemma Moon live here?”

“Absolutely,” the young man replied, grinning widely and his white teeth gleaming bright in contrast with his dark skin. Which had been oiled all over with something fragrant and, Angel was pretty sure, aphrodisiac. “You here to join us?”

“J-join? _No_ ,” Angel said quickly. “No, I just--” Needed to get an invitation in. To the apparent orgy.

“Whoa, mate, calm down,” the man held out a hand. “Why don’t you come on in, yeah? I’m naked, here.”

“I noticed,” Angel said dryly. “Do you live here?”

“Me?” the man pressed a hand to his slippery, well-muscled chest. “Nah, I live just down the hall.”

Angel nodded. So an invitation inside from this guy wouldn’t work. “Look,” Angel told him, “I just really need to talk to Gemma. Right now.”

“I gotcha,” the man grinned. “I know _exactly_ what you mean.” He winked at Angel, and Angel noticed that his pupils were dilated abnormally large for the brightness of the hall.

The young man stepped back and called into the flat, “Hey Gem! The first one’s here! He’s not one of mine, though...”

Angel resisted the urge to do a facepalm, which proved nearly impossible when Gemma Moon showed up. Her pupils were just as dilated, and that was the least sexy thing about her.

She wore a (very) short black silk robe, untied and hanging open enough to show that she wasn’t wearing a bra, although she was (thank god) wearing black lace panties that would have barely covered her pubic hair, if she had any. Her long brown hair was pulled up, but several long, curling tendrils hung down alongside an absolutely lovely smooth, long neck. Tattoos swirled up her thighs and torso, which were also oiled, and on her feet were a pair of black stilettos with ribbons that laced up to her knees and looked like they fit her _perfectly_.

_Goddammit_.

“Well _hello_ ,” she said in a smooth, intrigued voice. “What can I do for you?”

Angel gritted his teeth. He had minutes left. He was just going to have to do it.

“Can I…” Angel swallowed. “Come in?”

Gemma smiled, a coy and languid expression on lovely symmetrical features. Even though Angel still felt a humming kind of satisfied from Cordelia and not at all looking for another encounter, this girl was gorgeous and mostly naked and smelled amazing. Angel still found that the mere thought of his mother standing behind him was what he needed to keep his own arousal at bay, satisfied or not. Small mercies.

“Ooo, I don’t know…” Gemma stepped forward, stretching out a hand run at the lapel of Angel’s leather jacket. “You’re definitely gorgeous enough… And you’re certainly dressed for a party,” she added, running a finger down through the glitter on his chest. “What do you have in mind?” Her eyes flicked to Brona questioningly.

“She’s-- The hologram isn’t part of this,” Angel replied. “I just need to talk to you for a second. Inside.”

“We could be interested in holograms,” Gemma purred, tightening her hold on his lapel. She leaned in, the front of her chest just brushing Angel’s, and whispered in his ear, “We like games.” Then she giggled, and the sound and the motion were _delightful_.

Angel took a deep, calming breath, reminding himself that his mother was watching, and said, “Sounds like fun. Can I come in?”

Gemma Moon stepped back, still grinning, and tugged Angel by his coat lapels. “If you bring your hologram,” she replied, pulling Angel closer to the threshold.

Angel glanced back at Brona and wished he hadn’t. She looked like she was about ready to murder him, incorporeal or not, and while she was at it, nail a giant crucifix to the front door to keep any more evil from seeping out.

She would _never_ agree to come in with them (not that he wanted her to), so as Angel was pulled another step closer to the threshold, he took the best option and lied.

“Of course,” he turned back to offer Gemma Moon a smile. “Does that mean we’re both invited in?”

Gemma’s coyness dropped and plunged into sultriness. “Oh, _absolutely_ ,” she said as she pulled Angel across the open threshold and into a deep kiss.

Angel lost all sense of direction for several seconds and when she let him go, he was surprised to find himself several paces into the flat and turned around nearly 180 degrees. He blinked and looked around to get his bearings: kitchen was to the right (the site of most of the mutilations, since that’s normally where people keep knives). A long island counter delineated the kitchen from the living room in the open floor plan. Bowls of snacks lay everywhere among bottles of various not-cheap liquors. Equally varying pieces of underwear were strewn about over seemingly every possible surface, including the ceiling fan. Angel also noticed that the bedroom was through a door to the left. Just as a point of interest.

And Angel noticed something else, too. “ _Ohhh_ ,” he said, licking his lips around the lingering taste of Gemma’s mouth. “You’re on _O_ …”

“Uh huh,” Gemma laughed enthusiastically. “Bays’s friend hooked us up. Want some?”

Before Angel could answer, he felt a warm hand trailing up the back of his arm and a deep voice said in his ear, “It’ll help you loosen up. There isn’t even a hangover…”

Angel jumped and almost backed away, but realized in time that he would have backed right into Bays - as was his name, apparently - so he did a sideways step and twist out of both of their grasps. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Isn’t he cute, Bays?” Gemma asked delightedly. She had glitter all over the oiled skin of her torso now, drawing the eyes...everywhere.

“ _So_ cute,” Bays agreed. “I’m Bays, by the way,” he added holding his hand out. “Short for Basil.”

“I gathered,” Angel replied, taking his hand warily. “Angel. Not that you asked before inviting me to your...orgy.”

“Oh, I _love_ your name!” Gemma cried, while Bays said,

“Orgy? Not yet, man. Orgy’s when there’s at least five people. We’ve just got four if you include the hologram. More should be coming, though...” He snickered and glanced toward the doorway.

Angel coughed and tried desperately to erase the images coming to his mind. He turned from Bays to Gemma. Not long now… Midnight was so close…

It just wasn’t fair that time ran so fast when he was late, but so slow now.

“So,” Angel chuckled nervously. “Gemma. Nice shoes.”

“Aren’t they amazing?” Gemma grinned, extending her leg and twisting it just right to show off her new shoes. Among other things. “Look how fantastic they make my legs look.” Like that.

Angel swallowed. “Fantastic,” he agreed. He tuned into the position of the sun. Still about a minute to midnight.

“So is the hologram coming?” Gemma asked, taking a long, slow step toward him.

“She probably needs a minute,” Angel replied, shoving his hands determinedly in his pockets. “To...reboot.” He had no idea if holograms rebooted or not.

“Awww…” Gemma cooed, her coyness returning with another step forward. “I think he’s a bit nervous, don’t you, Bays?” She looped a hand around behind Angel’s neck and began playing with his lapels again with her other hand. “Why don’t you take off your coat first, hm, baby?”

“Um,” Angel said, both eloquently and effectively.

Gemma had pushed Angel’s coat halfway off one shoulder when she abruptly changed demeanor. Her eyes went glassy and she froze, as if listening to something else.

“Oh thank god,” Angel breathed.

“What?” Bays asked in bewilderment.

“Yeah, so she’s under a curse,” Angel explained as Gemma straightened up and turned toward the kitchen, robot-like. “And I’m just here to keep her from cutting off bits of her foot.” He pulled his coat back on his shoulder.

“... _What?_ ” Bays asked again.

“Maybe I’ll explain when you’re sober,” Angel told him. He glanced down. “And dressed.” Then he turned and went after Gemma Moon, who was halfway to the kitchen by the time he reached her. He took her wrist and felt the magic immediately. Tingling and vibrant and oddly familiar, his fingers tightened and held her back.

Gemma pulled against him and - Calder was right - she was weirdly strong. With a grunt of effort, she pulled Angel off balance and he stumbled several steps.

“Hey, man, what d’you think you’re doing?” Bays cried behind them. “Let her go!”

“Can’t,” Angel replied through another grunt of effort. There was nothing for it; he was going to have to pick her up. “It’s for her own good, I swear.”

Angel lifted his free arm to wrap around Gemma’s waist, but another set of strong hands grabbed it. Angel turned to find Bays gripping Angel’s forearm with both hands, a determined expression on his face.

“Hey,” Angel complained, jerking against both Bays and Gemma. “Let go,” he growled at Bays.

“No,” Bays replied stubbornly. “ _You_ let go. Creepo!”

They had made it to the kitchen island; Gemma’s fingers of her free hand were outstretched toward the knife block on the counter against the wall.

“Okay,” Angel grunted. “Sorry, Bays.” Angel twisted his torso and sent a quick, hard blow through his shoulder to the center of Bays’s chest and the man went flying back, tumbling heels over head over the back of the couch.

“Ow!” Bays complained in a muffled voice.

Angel turned back to Gemma, who’s outstretched fingers were just brushing the handle of one of the knives in the block. Angel wrenched her back, wrapping his other arm around her waist, and she let out a bloodcurdling shriek.

“ _Christ_ ,” Angel swore, his ears ringing. He struggled to maintain his grip on her, but between the loose silk and the oil on her skin, he was losing fast. There was another cry, this one more battle-bloodthirsty, and Bays launched himself onto Angel’s back, throwing them into the counter. Bays wrapped an arm around Angel’s neck and pulled, trying to strangle him. Angel ignored the pain, reaching desperately out for the butcher’s knife that Gemma had managed to grab.

They turned, twisted, slid, shouted, and just as Angel’s fingers managed to wrap around the handle of the knife with Gemma’s, Bays’s weight shifted and pulled Angel off-balance. They went crashing sideways to the kitchen floor, grunting with pain, and the knife clattered away.

Gemma shrieked with anger again and she scrambled up to get it. Angel twisted and reached up to grab her shoulders, but accidentally knocked one of her arms out from under her and she fell, one breast pressing into his face.

Angel was going to count this as a threesome because it spectacularly topped his list for Worst Threesome of All Time. Someday, he’d be laughing at this.

Angel rolled over on top of Gemma, wrestling her wrists to the ground and pinning her down. Bays yelled in anger and got up, straddled the two of them, and tried to pull Angel off.

“ _Bays_ ,” Angel growled again, “I’m trying to _help--_ ”

Gemma Moon abruptly went slack under Angel and he looked down. Her eyes blinked several times and slid back in focus, locking with Angel’s just inches away. “What…?”

“Are you okay?” Angel asked. Given the circumstances, it was a bit of a ridiculous question.

“Ummm…” She chewed on her full, soft lips. “I think so? How did we get down here already?” She squirmed her hips under his and said, “You’re not even hard yet…”

“Okay,” Angel said, letting go of her wrists. Bays was still trying valiantly to pull Angel off of Gemma, and didn’t stop even when Angel pushed himself up. “Dude,” Angel said, stumbling as Bays yanked him away from Gemma, “it’s over. I’m going.”

“What the _fuck_ was that, man?” Bays demanded. “Who _does_ shit like that?”

“Look,” Angel sighed, backing away toward the door, “it’s like I said: there was a curse and now she’s fine, and since you’re both on O by tomorrow you’ll probably just remember this all as a fun sex game so...you’re welcome.”

Bays’s mouth hung open. “Dude!”

“Bays?” Gemma’s voice came from the floor and it sounded like she was pushing herself up.

Bays looked at her and Angel turned to take the opportunity to disappear out the door but found Brona standing in the doorway, arms crossed and expression...disappointed.

It was like Gemma’s knife stabbed him in the heart and he flinched. Angel and his mother locked eyes for a long moment, and then the sound of Bays helping Gemma up in her high stiletto heels roused him. He made his way toward the door purposefully, hesitating only a little as he passed by Brona’s incorporeal form, and he went to call the lift, pulling out his Palm to check in with the boys as he did.

* * *

Brona Magann’s last living memory was of her son’s sharp teeth cutting through the skin of her neck and the sound of blood gulping down his throat. Her husband lay across the room, her daughter by the door...and then the monster that had taken her family killed her, too.

He passed by her through the brothel doorway with the audacity to look ashamed of himself. Brona had thought he’d lost the ability years ago. If he had gained it back, that was yet another thing that had changed for her in the last half an hour, and though it weighed nothing next to the grief and horror in her heart, it did add to the pressure in her stomach that made her want to be sick.

The abbess was standing again. Her short dressing gown had slipped off her shoulders and hung around her elbows, exposing herself quite indecently. Not, Brona supposed, that it made much of a difference given the slave’s state of undress. The abbess wrapped her arms unsteadily around the man, and Brona averted her eyes as their heads leaned toward each other. She reached out to close the door and offer them privacy, but her hand went through the handle and she flinched, quite forgetting she was helpless to move anything. The sound of moans and lips parting loudly prompted Brona to simply turn and leave.

She wanted no more than to follow her son - if she could even call him that anymore - than to remain in the hall listening to the sounds of fornication, but her attempt to pull the door handle reminded her that she was quite helpless without someone to interact with the world for her. Right now, she needed the monster.

“ _God_ , don’t ask,” he was saying like he was speaking with someone in the black tile he held to his ear as he adjusted the strap of the sword he’d just slung across his back. “She’s fine, that’s all. Have you heard from Will?” A pause. The door to the - he’d called it a “lift” earlier - opened and he went in. Reluctantly, Brona followed. “I’ll call him next. Lobby.” The doors closed. “You and I have another problem, though: your friend Jodie Dempsey’s still trying.” Another pause. He glanced sideways at Brona and she shifted uncomfortably. “Oh… Pretty sure… Get some sleep tonight; I’ll call you tomorrow with details.” After another brief pause he lowered the tile and pressed his thumb against it. Then he did some odd gestures, occasionally pressing a finger to the tile again, which Brona could see glowed with a strange quality of light. Then he raised it back to his ear.

“Will?” he said after a moment. The lift doors opened and they exited into the building’s small entrance hall. “How’d it…?” He smiled the same way he sometimes did when he looked at Katherine. “I knew you would. Good work.”

They lingered in the hall while he listened, and it occurred to Brona that she could leave now. She didn’t need someone to open the door for her when she could go right through. Now that she was at street level, she could go outside and...find a church? It seemed the only reasonable option.

When she had first opened her eyes after sinking to her kitchen floor out of Liam’s cold arms, her first thought was that Heaven was an odd place, indeed, with monumental forest-like buildings and glowing walkways, but who was she to criticize the Lord’s kingdom?

But then she had noticed the people and their scant outfits of bright color (except a queue of people just to her left, who were mostly wearing black). Brona, of course, wasn’t one to say for sure what angels looked like, but the idea that they showed so much skin (and so much of it defaced with piercings and tattoos - especially those queued up) just seemed deeply _wrong_. Had even a priest suggested it to her, she would have called it blasphemy.

And finally, she had seen Liam.

She hadn’t recognized him at first, with his short hair. He was walking toward her, but backward, talking to someone in the queue, and it was his voice - his shout of ironic laughter - she knew before he even turned.

She knew that this could not be Heaven.

For a good while she decided that it must be Purgatory, but though the place was drenched with sin, no one seemed particularly tormented by it. And what would her son, a vampire of Hell, be doing in Purgatory? This clearly wasn’t Hell, either, so she was forced to conclude that the vampire was telling the truth insomuch as this was still Earth, at least, in some far off time.

And if that was true, then the Lord Everlasting would still have worshippers _somewhere_ , and that meant that somewhere, she could find a church. Perhaps there she could find guidance.

“You did good work tonight, Will,” the vampire wearing Liam said, smiling gently. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow with our next move. Tell your mother I said thanks and sorry.” He lowered the tile a final time, pressing his thumb to it and then sliding it in his pocket.

Then he turned and looked at Brona.

She looked back.

They didn’t move for what felt like an eternity.


	7. Chapter 7

Brona was the first to speak. “I would like to find a church.”

Angel nodded, feeling like he’d regressed several processing steps backward, now that he had a chance to think. Foot mutilations had been averted another night, so he could let go of that problem for a few more hours, at least. He was going to have to check on Jodie Dempsey in the alley on the way home, but more than likely she’d cleared out by now. Angel couldn’t be positive she was the one who’s caused Brona’s sudden appearance, but it made more sense than Brona being a third, entirely separate problem to arise in Angel’s immediate vicinity that night. He didn’t know how Brona was the parent who’d been summoned and not Macky Dempsey, but that was also a problem for later.

Angel still wanted to talk to Emily Slipp at Decade, but there was no way in hell he was going to a live food vampire nightclub that also happened to house one of the most elite sex dungeons Angel had ever seen with his mother in tow.

But if she wanted to go to church…

“I know the priest over at St. Mark’s,” he offered. “It’s not far. Not that he’s there right now, but it doesn’t exactly matter if the doors are locked.”

Brona blinked at him in shock. “You...know the local priest?”

“ _A_ local priest,” Angel corrected. “He helped me with a exorcism a while back.”

A half an eternity passed again as that sank in before Brona replied, “Very well. I would like to go.”

“Okay.” Angel nodded. “Great. We’ll go there, and I’ll check around, see if I can find some answers, and we’ll go from there.”

Brona considered for a minute before she also nodded in agreement.

Angel hesitated, then led the way to the door, holding it open for her for appearances, and led the way to the right - away from Decade - to the nearest crosswalk that would take them south and then back east toward the parish.

They walked in silence for a long time. When the streets became less busy with nightlife, Angel finally said, “I think you were brought here by magic.”

Brona looked at him sharply.

“ _I_ didn’t do it!” Angel said quickly, pressing a hand to his chest. “There’s a girl - just lost her dad - I think maybe she had something to do with it. The coincidences are kind of strong.”

Brona dipped her head, looking forward again. “And then what?”

“Figure out how to reverse it, I guess,” he replied. “Usually there’s an easy way within the first 24 hours, or by sunrise…” Which didn’t give him much time, if that was the case.

“And reversing it will…?”

Kill her? Again?

“Send you where you’re supposed to go,” Angel replied tactfully.

“Of course,” Brona said softly.

They didn’t speak again until they reached the church. St. Mark’s Parish was the newest Catholic church in the entire city of Galway, but the architects had designed it in the old fashion: stone and stained glass and even a light spray of fake algae to give it an old appearance. It also had an open air parking lot and a tiny cemetery out back that was more ceremonial than practical.

Angel paused, staring at the small stone building. “Okay,” he said after a moment, “I’ll be back before sunrise.”

“Why?”

Angel looked at her, mildly confused. “To let you know what I found? Bring you back to my place? It’s not like I can easily come get you during the day. Plus, when the church opens it’ll be hard not accidentally going through things, and you’re already pretty conspicuous.” He glanced over her ridiculously anachronistic outfit.

“Perhaps Father Murray will allow me to stay in his study,” Brona suggested.

Angel hesitated. Father Murray probably would...not that that was failsafe. But what if he figured out how to reverse the spell? He’d need her back anyway, and he couldn’t just walk in during the day. His car windows were necrotempered, so he could get Calder to go with him… This was getting complicated.

Angel rubbed at his forehead again. “Look, it’d be a lot easier to have you with me and I’ve already got a lot on my plate with this foot curse--” He cut off at the glare Brona gave him. “It’s _real_ ,” he insisted, then shook himself. “Look, I’ll be back just before sunrise, hopefully with some answers - or at least a vague plan. And if I decide I need you to come with me before sunrise then, you’re just going to have to trust me.”

Brona gave Angel a hard stare, and he nearly faltered under it. “Trust you?” she repeated softly. “Not an _hour_ ago, you walked into my house and drank our life blood dry.”

Angel swallowed guiltily.

“I am going to pray,” Brona said evenly, “and _then_ I will decide whom I trust.”

She walked forward under the sheltered entrance and disappeared straight through the locked door. She didn’t even hesitate.

* * *

Angel checked the alley first. Nothing there, except a sense of flat dullness, like all the charge had been sapped from the air, the ground, and even the trash along the dark edges.

He went into Decade to talk to Emily.

The line for the street entrance was gone when Angel got there, which was odd for the club. While it certainly didn’t fall into the category of new or hip (or whatever word meant “hip” now; Angel was sure it was no longer hip to say “hip”), Decade had history and respect. Several very important bands had played there in the past and newcomers would play often, teasing the promise that maybe someday the attendees would be able to say, “I was there when...”

All of this meant that Angel usually found the club (as entered from the street entrance) loud, crowded, and not much fun at all. Tonight, however, he walked right into the dimly lit hallway and proceeded easily across the large thudding main dance area, where it wasn’t exactly empty, but there were far fewer people than normal. Several groups were dancing unenthusiastically in the strobing red lights. More had gathered at tables that lined the dance floor, drinking and failing to have conversations over the pounding music.

His eyes tracked up, and Angel spotted Emily’s distinctive silhouette - with her permed hair that frizzed up to at least 8 inches from the top of her head, and her slim figure with large metal bangles hanging from her arms that glinted red as they caught the lights - leaning against the railing of the catwalk that spanned the whole dance floor. Angel caught the orange glow of a cigarette between her lips before he focused on making his way to the stairs, stepping right over the black metal gate blocking the way up.

Angel silently took a place next to Emily, looking down at the dance floor and watching the crowd below with detached interest. She lowered her cigarette from her mouth, not bothering to exhale. The bracelets on her wrists clattered against the metal of the railing.

“So,” she said, “this is kind of pissing me off.”

“I thought you picked the music,” Angel replied.

“Not the music,” Emily said. She turned her head in Angel’s direction. In the dark of the club her dark eyes looked like flat black disks on her pale white face. “This band is classic, by the way. I meant the-- whatever the hell happened. The party died 45 minutes ago like someone suddenly hit the Lame switch. I’ve lost over half my crowd in the last half hour. Including my _dinner_.” She growled this last part and Angel tried not to empathize with the maddening sensation of a meal slipping away.

That was interesting, though. “Like, the life was gone?” Angel asked.

“Yeah. All I’m left with is the undead population,” she tapped the ash off of the end of her cigarette over the dancing vampires below. “And an all-vampire party is not a fun party. It’s like a party with no chips. It wasn’t you was it?” She actually looked at him for the first time. Her wide nostrils flared. “Have you been in the dungeon for Rashi’s birthday?”

Angel looked down at himself. He was covered in glitter and reeked of aphrodisiac oil from his wrestling with Bays. “No. I…” Unwilling, however, to explain the unicorn glitter or the oil and trying to get the conversation on track, Angel finished lamely, “Someone is cutting off toes.”

“At the party?” A red light glinted across the backness of Emily’s eyes. “Maybe I _should_ go to his stupid party. Not that I’m ready to be covered in that much glitter.”

“I wasn’t at the party,” Angel said. “I’ve just had a weird night. Have you heard anything about a curse that makes people cut off their toes?”

“Will you promise to keep your glitter herpes away from me?”

Angel took a step away from Emily.

“No. I don’t know anyone handing out foot curses.”

Angel sighed.

“Oh, but--”

Angel’s attention perked up as Emily tapped her finger against her wrist, activating her Palm screen.

“Someone just forwarded me some _great_ pictures of some foot mutilations.”

Angel shook his head. “Have ‘em. Thanks, though.”

“And you didn’t magically suck the life out of my party?”

“Sorry, no.”  
  
Emily took another drag of her cigarette. “Tonight sucks,” she declared.

“Tell me about it,” Angel agreed.

* * *

Back in the alley behind the nightclub, Angel leaned against the wall and thought in the silence. The next step in the foot curse issue was research. They had pieces, but nothing to tie it all together. If it was a curse, as was his suspicion, he - no, the boys, he reminded himself - would then need to find the cursed object or person and an appropriate countercurse. But bearing in mind that it could be possession, Angel may have double the need to call on Father Murray at St. Mark’s.

Angel shifted his weight uncomfortably against the wall. He’d been slipping so easily back into Investigator Mode, finding an old, warm nostalgia in working with friends to solve a case and in the rush of battle (even if the battle had been practically a sex act with his mother as a witness - there had been a knife and danger involved and he was sticking with that part of the nostalgia). In his recent conscious opening up to having a human family again, opening up to investigating and helping the boys in their quest for Championhood felt like a natural - if mildly terrifying - part of the process.

But now the PTB had stepped in. Again. And Angel was explicitly only along for the ride in a mentor capacity, not as a Champion. The appointment stung a little. Before Cordy had shown up again and made him defend (over and over) his position on not working for the Powers, that area of his life had been happily numb: seared off, cauterized, and knotted with scar tissue. Now it was beginning to break open again, and the breaking...well, stung.

And contradictorily, because Angel was complicated like that, while the PTB hadn't directed their orders toward Angel, he couldn’t help but feel like he was being given secret, silent orders, and he was following them unknowingly. Was this their way of trying to remind Angel how fulfilling it was to be part of something bigger? Or - as Cordy had suggested - was his ego just making up more ways to make him feel so special that higher beings pursued him relentlessly? Was this whole situation just a consequence of who his friends were?

Also, it put Angel in a bit of an awkward place with how to move forward with this case. If he were all in and the PTB were out, he’d go do the research himself right now. But since it was the boys’ case, should Angel wait and let them do it, regardless of how far behind it put them? Or just assume they would want him to continue working it without them?

And as for Brona...Angel still suspected Jodie Dempsey was at fault. But to find that out, someone would need to talk to her. Much as he wanted to go back to her house right then, sneak up to her window, and frighten the answers out of her, he had to admit it was probably better all around if Calder did it. Angel couldn’t think of a resurrection spell that was irreversible, so even though it looked like Brona would be around well after sunrise, if that _was_ the cutoff for a quick reverse, it didn’t mean it was the cutoff for _any_ reverse.

Angel still knew a few shop owners around town who might have sold to Macky Dempsey, so, pushing himself upright from the wall, he decided to start there in the tepid hope of figuring out which books Macky had bought, and while he was at it, could ask about the mutilation problem, too. Just to ask.

Rounding the corner into the side alley, Angel nearly ran straight into someone and he jumped, mumbling a quick apology before he realized he knew the person.

“William?”

William breathed a sigh of relief. “I was afraid you’d be gone,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” Angel asked. “How’d you find me?”

“You mentioned that after your victim you were going to talk to the owner of this nightclub called Decade,” William replied. “I asked the bouncer out front if he’d let anyone with your description go in recently and he said, ‘Oh, Angel? Sure did, but he usually uses the back…’” William put his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “You don’t like nightclubs,” he said. “They’re too loud and you don’t dance.”

Angel rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “That’s true, I don’t,” he agreed. He shoved his hand in his pocket again. “Like I said, I know the owner.”

“Whom you come _here_ to see _so often_ that you ‘usually’ use the back?”

Angel shifted his weight uncomfortably and then he let out a sigh. “It’s a vampire nightclub, okay? It’s not too loud and you don’t have to dance if you go in the back.” Given that the back was essentially a human blood bar. With fresh humans.

William’s mouth opened in shock. “A _vampire_ nightclub?”

“And I know the owner _because_ she’s a vampire,” Angel added. “Don’t tell Calder, or he’ll think he wants me to get him in.”

William nodded, still looking shocked. “Right, of course not.”

“So? Angel asked. “What are you doing here?”

William’s mouth closed and he looked up at Angel. “I want to help you. I don’t like that I couldn’t before, and I figured _Maimeó’s_ asleep until morning anyway. I can help until then.”

William’s expression was resolute, but he could have been dragged there kicking and screaming to help, and Angel would have still been just as relieved. That solved the dilemma of how to move forward with the foot curse.

Angel smiled down at William. “Come on,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll fill you in.”

William grinned at him as they turned back down the alley. “Hey Angel?” William asked as they went. “Not that it doesn’t become you, but what’s with the glitter?”

* * *

Praying had never been so difficult for Brona. And her religion was outlawed.

Even in front of her open eyes, it was difficult to see the impressively large crucifix at the front of the sanctuary. What she saw instead was Liam’s monstrous face and long, sharp teeth leaning toward her neck. Her husband and daughter on the floor, dead. The nakedness of the abbess and her dark-skinned consort wrapped around her son and expecting her to _join_ …

She prayed for cleansing of these images and calming of her heart (which she couldn’t even feel beating). She whisper-sang her favorite hymns and recited as many verses as she could remember.

It helped a little. But the images wouldn’t stop and her grief was unending. In the private, safe quiet of the sanctuary, she wept, and though she could feel the wetness of her tears on her cheeks, they stained nothing where they fell, like she wasn’t there at all.

* * *

Most magic shops had strict privacy rules so that practitioners would feel safe purchasing dangerous or black magic items without raising unwanted suspicion. Angel was usually able to scare Ferguson into divulging customer information, but none of the others would budge, and Angel respected that. Sometimes, he enjoyed the same security.

“I don’t need to know what he was up to,” Angel said to Reginald Blu, owner of _Genius in a Bottle_ ; one of the more well-respected sources of magic supplies in Galway. Blu was tall and thin, with a jet black goatee and a long, rich overcoat of reds, purples, and golds. Many of his customers swore he was one of the _djinn_ , but Angel with his sense of smell knew he was only quarter _djinn,_  and lacking in most of the _djinn_ powers and qualities. Though Blu never outright stated what he was, it was obvious he used the assumption to his advantage, and Angel never said anything out of respect for the man.

“I’m just trying to get a sense for the kind of practitioner he was,” Angel continued. “I think someone’s following in his footsteps and I need to figure out where they’re going.” While he was letting William field the foot-curse questions, Angel had been taking over the questions about Macky Dempsey, being a bit more sensitive in nature and it just making more sense that Angel would want - even need - to know about players in town.

Blu looked reluctant, but said cautiously, “He wasn’t very active; at least from my point of view. He was not a frequent customer and tended to purchase books rather than supplies. I am sorry he has passed, but that doesn’t change my rules on customer privacy. I’m afraid I can’t say anymore.”

“I understand,” Angel nodded. “Thank you. If you have a moment, there’s something else we’d like to pick your brain about...”

Blu was much more willing to discuss the foot mutilations, which had been part of the strategy in asking the more closed topic first. He was deeply intrigued to learn that all of the incidents occurred at midnight and concluded at “midnight-oh-one,” as he called it at one point.

“It is certainly a curse or a hex of some sort,” he said, gliding over to one of his shining wood shelves. “I’ve never heard of possessions only lasting a minute and happening simultaneously with other victims. Such a brief, specific duration is absolutely characteristic of wish fulfillment.”

“Wish fulfillment?” Angel repeated thoughtfully as he and William gathered around the book that Blu pulled from the shelf. “You think we’re dealing with a vengeance demon or something?”

“Again?” William said exasperatedly.

“Perhaps,” Blu agreed. “But they are not the only granters of wishes.” He chuckled like it was an inside joke. “This might help you, Angel,” he said offering the book to him. “It has everything on wish fulfillment from accidental childhood magic to the great and mighty _djinn_.”

Angel nearly took the book, but just managed to turn his reach into a gesture at William. “This is William’s project,” he said. “Thanks.”

Blu turned in surprise to William, but then smiled and offered the book to him. William took it. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sure this will be helpful.”

Blu gave William a delighted grin. “Of course! Is there anything else I can help you with?”

William considered for a moment. “I don’t think so. But I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

Blu gave him a half bow and then led the way, gliding, over to the payment kiosk.

William leaned in toward Angel and whispered in a worried tone, “Angel--”

“I’ll pay for it,” Angel assured him, and William relaxed.

After Reginald Blu, they went to see (scare) Ferguson, who reported that Macky Dempsey did occasionally buy supplies as well as books, though nothing alarming. Sage, candles, feathers, eye of newt. That sort of thing.

“What about a teenage girl with blonde hair?” William asked him, and Angel kicked himself for not thinking about that. “She probably would have looked nervous, but trying to hide it.”

Angel gave an approving nod to William and then a threatening glare to Ferguson, who hastily replied that a girl had come in about a week ago looking for a certain quartz.

“Did you sell it to her?” Angel asked, and the way that Ferguson’s eyes averted answered for him.

Angel sighed and they thanked the old shopkeeper and left.

They hit up one more shop, and it was more of the same. Macky Dempsey had left no great impression at the shops he’d patronized, and though word of the foot mutilations had spread, Angel and the boys were the only ones who seemed to take an active interest. The owner of the last store, however, had said that it all seemed familiar somehow, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“That could mean it’s happened before,” William said as they got into Angel’s car again. “Maybe this is a once-every-fifty-years things.”

“Could be,” Angel agreed, starting up the car. “I’ve only been here 40 years, so…” He pulled out into the empty street.

“I guess it’s research time,” William said, glancing at the book in the backseat.

“Or I could take you home,” Angel offered. “It’s late.”

“Yeah…” William said reluctantly. “But my grandmother wouldn’t like finding me reading a book like that. I can at least read for an hour or two and then go home.”

“Up to you,” Angel agreed, taking the next left toward his flat. They drove in silence for a minute before William looked over at him.

“So,” he said. “What are you going to do about your mum?”

Angel sighed heavily. “I don’t know…” he admitted, hands sliding to the bottom of the wheel. “I’m half tempted to let her just stay at the church until I figure out how to reverse whatever Jodie did. I might not even have to talk to her again.”

“You know you have to, though,” William said.

“Why?” Angel asked confrontationally.

William hesitated. “Er… Because it’s what my mum would say,” he admitted. “Probably because this is your chance to make things right with her before you have to kill her again.”

Angel snorted. “How is any of this ever going to be right, Will? I killed her. And her family. And I’m not exactly living an upstanding Catholic life, even if I’m not evil anymore.”

“I don’t think it’s about what you do with your life,” William replied, “as much as it is acknowledging you did something wrong and needing own up to it. It’s not like you can fix the past, but sometimes just admitting you were wrong and apologizing is enough to assure them it won’t happen in the future. And that’s something.”

Angel glanced at William in slight surprise. Judith had taught him _well_. He drew his right elbow up on the edge of the door and rested his head in his hand. “I guess…” he agreed reluctantly.

“Did you love your mother?” William asked.

It had been a long time since Angel had even thought of her, but after a moment of letting painful memories surface, he nodded. “Sure I did.”

William shrugged. “Then you’ve got to go talk to her.”

“But how do you apologize for something you can never be sorry enough for?” Angel asked.

William shrugged again. “You just do? I don’t know, Angel, I’m out of my depth.”

Angel gave him a small smile. “You’re doing good so far, kid.”

William smiled back. Silence fell for another moment, except the gentle rumbling of _A Mhuirnín_. Then William said, “You could take her to see Connor.”

Angel’s single-handed grip on the wheel tightened a bit at the thought. It hadn’t occurred to him that she was Connor’s grandmother. He pushed out a heavy exhale.

“When you’re ready,” William acknowledged, and he turned to watch out the window. “But you should still at least talk to her, even if you’re not ready.”

Angel shewed on his lower lip. “I guess I did tell her I’d be back for her by sunrise,” he said reluctantly.

“Then you _definitely_ need to go,” William told him. “She’d have no reason to believe anything you say later if you don’t.”

William had a point. If Angel needed her cooperation at all, he had to try to keep the bridges from burning now. Burning _more_. Or he needed to douse the flames and repair them?

Whatever.

Angel sighed. “Damn.”

William reached over and patted his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Angel.”

Angel grunted.

“Drop me off at your place first, though,” William requested. “I’ll start reading about wish fulfillment curses while you go think of a way to apologize to your dead mother.”

* * *

Brona had finally reached some semblance of calm in her heart when the sound of rapping on glass startled her.

Liam had often given her cause to pray for patience, and it seemed that had not changed in 462 years. She looked behind her and saw through the open sanctuary doors the vampire with her son’s face standing on the other side of the thick glass entrance doors. She wondered if vampires could even enter the hallowed ground of a church building.

Standing, she crossed the length of the sanctuary and the entrance hall at her own slow, collected pace, and finally paused in front of him. They stared at each other for a moment. His eyes, at least, looked sincere. But even as a human, Liam had been able to charm his way into the hearts of many with sincerity.

They both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, but Brona managed it first. “Have you answers?”

The creature hesitated. “No,” he said, his voice muffled through the glass. “Not yet, but we should by morning.”

“Then you may come back then,” she replied, and shifted to go.

“Wait,” the vampire said hastily. “Please. Wait. M-mother, I’m--”

“ _Mother?_ ” Brona narrowed her eyes at the demon that dared call her ‘mother.’ “You may have forgotten whence you came, but I haven’t, vampire, and I still have the marks to remind you.” Pulling back her long, curled black hair from her neck, Brona exposed the side of her neck, where the wounds still stung, fresh and sharp. The monster who used to be Liam winced. She let her hair fall back into place, covering it.

“Look,” he said, though she could see the word more on his lips than hear its softness through the door. “I know I can’t make up for what I did. But I _am_ sorry.”

Brona tensed. If it was trickery, she didn’t know the purpose. She was already dead, and her loved ones with her. Everything was gone.

“I’m a vampire, yes,” he continued, “but not like I was. I--” He bit his lower lip, trying to find his words. “The soul that I have, it gives me a choice. And I choose…” He shifted his weight, like it caused his agony to say his next words. Like they were a lie. “To help people.”

Brona let out a sharp breath. “Yes, like you ‘helped’ the abbess earlier.”

“That wasn’t a brothel,” he replied wearily. “She was just a girl tripping on sex drugs - medicines - with her neighbor. She was cursed by something and I was just trying to keep her from causing herself unspeakable pain and anguish.”

“Pain and anguish like you caused us?” Brona replied, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Do you know how many times Katherine came to me crying because you and your father couldn’t stop fighting?” The vampire’s gaze dropped quickly to the ground. “Or how hard we prayed for your deliverance every day? Yes, even your fa-- Thomas,” she corrected herself. “He was so frightened for you,” she continued.

The vampire shifted almost like he was about to turn to go, but he stayed, still staring at the ground, shoulders hunched. He took in a deep breath. “I know,” he replied. He looked up at her, slowly like he had to force his head up. “I know. I’ve spent the last few centuries stewing in the guilt of it. I was a bad son...a bad brother. I’m trying to make up for it even though I know I can’t.” He gave a little shrug. “What more do you want from me?”

The question startled Brona a little. The answer, of course, being that as he said, there was nothing else he could do or give that would change anything. What she needed was peace, and he could only give that to her by returning her to a full death. And he had said he didn’t have the answers yet.

“Time,” she replied. “Return only when you have answers.”

Then she turned, leaving him standing on the other side of the glass door. After she entered the sanctuary again, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was gone.

 


	8. Chapter 8

William did not make it home by morning and Judith Cole was _not_ pleased about it.

He had fallen asleep at Angel’s on the couch, book in his lap, and instead of waking him, Angel had covered him with a blanket before going to bed himself. William woke sharply a few hours later with the buzzing and ringing on his Palm to his frantic mother hissing with nervous glances toward the next room about how he promised to be home by morning and since he wasn’t dead, why the hell wasn’t he there?

Mumbling sleepy and rather annoyed apologies, William scrambled home and made it just in time to interrupt his grandmother’s unsolicited parenting advice on how exactly his mother should handle the entire situation.

 _Okay_ , William thought to himself as he bit into his toast half an hour later, his grandmother deftly delivering him sweetly wrapped globs of guilt for worrying them so. _Maybe Mum’s not_ _that_ _mad about Maimeó…_

* * *

It being Saturday morning, Calder slept in.

When he woke with the morning mostly gone, he checked his Palm for messages through bleary eyes. One was a text from Jamina confirming the dating status of Talia and Pete, and Calder considered giving up on Saturday altogether.

But then the next was a text from Angel telling him to call as soon as he got up, no matter the time. Calder knew from experience that Angel could be a grumpy bastard if you got him up earlier than he wanted to be, so Calder assumed that it was important and decided to not _quite_ give up on Saturday.

He got up and ate before calling Angel, only half listening to the news stream his parents had on while they cleaned up from their breakfasts. The Lauchley family was most alike in the mornings, when conversational silence was sacred. News or cartoons could be on at minimal volume, but not music, and no one could speak to each other until after breakfast unless under dire necessity.

Calder usually tuned out the news, and he was stewing in his own recent news about Talia Malan so much that he nearly missed the report on Victor Hale until the word “mutilation” broke through his consciousness.

“Authorities say they _are_ looking into all possibilities and will keep the public informed when they know more. Although Hale is the fourth addition to this strange outbreak of spontaneous psychosis, authorities are optimistic about finding the cause soon.” There was a brief pause and then the newscaster started talking about city plans for restoration efforts in Old Galway.

Calder swore under his breath so his mother wouldn’t hear and pushed himself up from the table.

“Dishes,” his mother reminded him shortly.

Cursing under his breath again, Calder dumped his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher haphazardly before dashing out of the kitchen to call Angel.

* * *

There could only be one conclusion: the curse wasn’t broken if it was prevented, just delayed until the next midnight. Angel had joined Calder in swearing bitterly and then sitting in heavy silence while they thought through the implications.

“So basically,” Calder said, sighing deeply, “if we don’t figure out how to break the curse by midnight tonight, we have to go back and _re_ -save all of last night’s victims, plus whoever joins the pool today.”

“And there already is one,” Angel replied. They were on video call, and Calder could see that Angel was still in bed, but thumbing through his Palm, presumably reading messages. “I’ll send you the name…” He sighed. “And Judith Cole’s pissed at me.”

“Why?”

“Will was helping me out last night after and fell asleep here,” Angel replied. “Guess I should’ve woken him up…”

“Will was helping?” Calder asked, flopping down on his bed. “With what?” He almost added _Why didn’t you get me?_ but that would have meant that he wouldn’t have gotten to sleep last night, either.

Angel told Calder about the rest of the evening: the appearance of the unicorn, Jodie Dempsey, his own freaking _mother_ …

“Damn,” Calder whispered when Angel had finished. “That’s some irony.”

“Don’t I know it.” Angel rubbed his forehead, wincing. “I need a few more hours’ sleep. Can you get what we need from Jodie and see if Will has any insight from the book we got last night?”

“Yup,” Calder said, pushing himself up from the bed again. “Angel, I order you to go back to sleep.” Ordering Angel around would never get old.

Angel snorted. “Wake me up if you need me,” he said, and they hung up without any more ceremony.

* * *

It was close to noon when Calder finally arrived at the Dempsey’s door, and Calder internally winced as he remembered the last time he’d stood (or rather, sat) on that stoop, drunk, underage, and in front of a police officer. Thank god for morally ambiguous vampire guardians, right?

And _what_ did his ID say?

Calder rang the doorbell and a minute later, Jodie answered. She looked like she’d gotten a terrible night’s sleep and had only gotten herself together for the day halfway. Her hair was unwashed and up in a ponytail, and she was wearing sweats and a tank top that had splatters of paint the same blue color as their living room. She gave a sharp sigh to see him, and Calder could tell he was about to be given the boot. He stuck his foot in the door to keep her from closing it.

“Jodie,” he said firmly, “we’re doing this. Let’s get it over with.”

Jodie hesitated, but then relented and let him in. They went up to her room.

Jodie’s bedroom was typical of most teenagers’ rooms; at least in Calder’s experience. A layer of current paraphernalia loosely covered a rapidly diminishing childish (and in Jodie’s case, somewhat girlish) past: 3D posters of hot celebrities plastered over light pink walls, pictures with friends taped to old plastic frames of the same friends ten years before, makeup and jewelry on the dresser instead of doll accessories, and a bra draped over the back of a floral-patterned chair that had definitely been picked out by a Mom.

“So…” Jodie said nervously as she closed the bedroom door behind her. “What do you want?” She looked like she’d had a terrible night’s sleep.

“You didn’t stop,” Calder said, crossing his arms and turning to face her. “I told you not to try that spell again and you said you wouldn’t. I’m not mad, Jodie. Just disappointed.” He gave her his most disappointed head shake.

She rolled her eyes. “Look, you were right, okay? I admit it. I can’t work the damn spell, even with a freaking _nightclub_ as an energy source, so…” She sighed, crossing her arms and shrugging. “I’m done.”

“Actually, you’re not,” Calder told her. She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You actually _did_ manage to do something last night,” Calder went on, and Jodie’s eyebrows went up even further. “So you’ve got to help us make it right. After that, you can be done.”

Jodie stammered a few times before she managed to ask, “What’d I do?”

“Actually,” Calder chuckled, “it’s kind of funny. But only if you know him. So Angel, the guy that caught you in the alley?”

“The one who said he was a vampire?” Jodie asked skeptically.

“Well…” Calder blinked. “Yeah. Because he is.”

Slowly, Jodie’s eyes widened with realization.

“You brought back his _mother_ ,” Calder continued. “Who he killed. Over 450 years ago.”

Jodie staggered, reaching out for her unmade bed and sitting down heavily on it.

“He’s not very happy about it,” Calder added. “Actually, I’m assuming his mum isn’t either, but I haven’t seen her yet. She’s locked herself up in a church.”

“Oh my god,” Jodie whispered. “I... _did it?_ ”

“Well…” Calder tipped his head. “You did it wrong. Like I said you would. She’s more or less a ghost. So we need to know everything, Jodie. The spell you used, the props...everything.”

Jodie nodded numbly. “Right…” she agreed. “Right. Er…” she looked up at Calder. “How come it brought back the-- the vampire’s mum? Why not my dad?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Calder replied. “Spells are pretty finicky. If you don’t get it exact, you’ll usually get a different result.”

“Oh,” Jodie breathed. “Okay… Let me get my stuff…”

* * *

By the time Angel woke up in the early afternoon, he had so many texts piled up that he could have leisurely read them all over a long breakfast.

Ms. Sheffield made up the bulk of these, including the one Angel had already seen about the Perfect Fit that morning with a Mrs. Gina Price, plus an entire rant on how could they have failed to protect Mr. Hale when his name _had been on the list_ , and clearly they needed to step up their act or she would get involved whether they liked it or not (Angel had the sinking feeling that she already was), etc.

There were the unopened crime scene photos that Snake had sent.

There were the ones from Judith asking where the hell William was, and then never mind, she got hold of him (which Angel read with a bitter but-this-isn’t-over tone).

William texted, also, offering to help continue research if Angel would convince his mother it was absolutely necessary again (Angel would have to think about that one: on the one hand, he _did_ need the research help. On the other...Judith). William reported marking several places of interest in the text he’d left on the apothecary table, and to call for details.

Calder had also texted, saying that he got what he needed from Jodie and he’d bring her over to reverse the spell whenever it would be a good time for Angel. And by the way, William said he already sent Angel a message about his research findings, so he wasn’t going to be redundant.

And Giff the Greyard Demon wanted to know if Angel was in for kitten poker next Thursday night.

Angel had never felt more popular.

Or more like wanting to crawl back under the covers and avoid them all. If he was coming up with potential favors to cash in with the PTB for training their Champions, he was putting the ability to stop time and crawl into a cave until he was ready to come out on the list.

One by one, he sent all the responses he needed to and ignored the ones he could. He showered and dressed and breakfasted and by then, he had a plan.

He called Calder and got the report through face phone. Or video time. Or whatever they called it these days.

It was as he’d suspected: Jodie had finished her spell harnessing the pulsing energy of Decade to fuel the reanimation. The unicorn had been a sentimental object that the energy was supposed to draw from in finding the deceased’s soul, but it seemed that it had gotten the brunt of the first failed attempt, and the spell animated the unicorn instead of Mr. Dempsey. Jodie couldn’t figure out what to do with it now, and as far as she knew, it was _still_ running around out there somewhere. For her second attempt, she’d used the robe she was wearing - which had been her father’s - and Angel immediately realized why it had latched onto him instead.

“Blood,” he said. “I bled on it. Because that damn unicorn bit me. Blood is always the stronger magic.”

Calder groaned in realization. “So how come it brought back your mum and not your dad?”

Angel shrugged. “Probably didn’t say the spell right or something,” he replied. “I’m just glad it didn’t try to reanimate _me_ instead.”

“I can only imagine that would be bad,” Calder agreed. “Well, it shouldn’t be hard to reverse, right? I thought we could make Jodie do it - or at least help. Consequences or whatever. Also, there’s a whole section of the spell devoted to harnessing the energy for reanimation; that’s why she was attempting the spell at big gatherings of very lively people. If we’re reversing it, I think we need to make it so we’re harnessing _de_ animation energy. I think we need to do it at a cemetery. You know, a big gathering of very dead people.”

“That’s a good idea,” Angel agreed. And, as much as he wanted to have it over with, reluctantly added, “But it’ll have to go on the back burner for now. It’s not permanent after a certain amount of time, right?”

“Not that I saw,” Calder replied.

“Good. The foot curse is more important. Come on over; I’ll call Will in the meantime.”

They hung up and Angel called William to trade information.

“There’s lots of ideas,” William said after Angel filled him in and asked about the book, which was now sitting open in front of Angel on the apothecary table. “But nothing conclusive. I mean, it does have lots of the hallmarks of wish fulfillment. The question is whose and how?”

Angel nodded as he flipped through the pages that William had marked with scraps of paper. “But a wish for what?” he murmured, partly to himself. “Wishes are self-serving; who gets something out of this? Someone with a weird foot fetish? But the severed bits were left at the scene…”

“Could be vengeance,” William said. “That’s self-serving. Angel…? Do you think we could ask Cordelia? I know she said the vision didn’t have much info, but she did say we could call in whoever we want for information, and we know she has vengeance demon connections.”

Angel looked up at the screen where it was propped on the table while he flipped through the book. “As your guide, you have a better chance of reaching her than I do,” he said.

“Even though she’s...was...is…? Your…?”

“She’s not and wasn’t my girlfriend,” Angel replied evenly over the slight sting it felt to say it. “Even if she was, you’d still have a better chance of reaching her. Interdimensional communication has a lot more to do with destiny than dating. Try her if you want.”

William nodded reluctantly and Angel went back to flipping through the book. After a moment, William asked, “So what are you going to do about your mum?”

“Reverse the spell after we’re done with this foot thing,” Angel replied.

“You’re leaving her at the church?”

Angel shrugged. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me. I sent Father Murray a text. He can handle her until we have time to deal with it.”

William frowned, but didn’t say anything else on the subject. “Well,” he finally sighed, “I guess I’ll try to reach Cordy next time I have to go to the bathroom. ‘S pretty much my only chance to be alone…” He sounded deeply irritated by this, and Angel couldn’t blame him. “Mum’s probably going mad by now, so I should go back in. Rescue me if you can think of a way.”

Angel looked up at the screen sympathetically and nodded. They hung up and Angel tried to focus on finding whatever key they were missing to unlock the foot curse/wish/mystery and not on the incessant underlying stinging in his heart.

* * *

Ana-Monique Sheffield was really more of a cat person than a dog person, even though she had a dog.

She preferred red wine to white and had been raised to dress as if the Queen might show up for dinner unannounced.

She was also mildly OCD, a closet hopeless romantic, and oh yeah, she _hated_ not knowing what was going on.

Investigator Angel’s response to her essay of texts had been perfunctory and uninformative, and if that wasn’t enough to get her to start digging around on her own -  Well actually, she’d been digging around since he and his partner left.

It was the “perfect fit” thing that really got her. Enchanted Evenings mostly sold mainstream brands; the kind of shoe you’d find at any other retailer, except that they could get away with charging a bit extra because Enchanted Evenings boasted actual live clerks to help you with your purchases. Statistically, the customers coming in should have been no more and no less likely to find exact-fitting shoes mass-manufactured to average foot sizes.

Not that Ana-Monique had been in the shoe business long: it had been hats before this and winter sporting equipment before that, and a brief but eventful stint at once of those crystal-incense-feather kind of stores. But she knew customers and she knew fits.

Nothing was ever perfect in the mass retail world.

She’d started at the most likely place to find important information: the customers themselves. She started calling the ones from the list she’d drawn up the other night, asking if they were still just as satisfied with their purchases. Most were still satisfied, but wavered back from their initial excitement because of some minor flaw or another they hadn’t noticed at the time. She was able to cross off each one as potential victims. Otherwise, she found nothing particularly notable.

Then she checked with the distributors: nothing unusual with transportation methods and no likelihood of tampering. The manufacturers were also a dead end.

She briefly considered the idea of there being an actual attacker involved - not a break-in-and-slice kind of guy, but ruffie-slipping, water/vent-poisoning kind of attacker guy. But it didn’t quite make enough sense. Why would he (or she, Ana-Monique reminded herself) target her customers in particular? Why perfect fits? And how was this guy finding the perfect fit customers in the first place?

With a sickening turn of her stomach, Ana-Monique realized the obvious answer: the perp was one of her employees.

Practically throwing herself at the office tablet, she brought up the schedule manually, not wanting to use voice command in case she was heard through the ajar office door. Ana-Monique stared at the month’s schedule, narrowing her dark eyes at the dates of the crimes.

The only employee that worked each day of the attacks was young Jake Call, who also worked as a barista as he was trying to save for college. He was a sweet kid, but Ana-Monique had to follow the logic to a dead-end, just in case.

So although Jake had been scheduled for all five days, his shifts hadn’t overlapped with all the Perfect Fits. Gemma Moon, for example, had come in before Jake had arrived from his coffee-serving shift. Ana-Monique remembered that clearly because Mike couldn’t stop talking to Jake about how he’d gotten to help the short-skirted young woman try on all sorts of knee-high heeled shoes and how incredible that perfect pair had looked on her. So if Jake was the perp (still didn’t sit right, but following through), that was how he could have found out about Ms. Moon, but what about Ms. Gardner? She’d come in first thing that morning looking for supportive running shoes. Could Mike still be relaying information to Jake, and Ana-Monique hadn’t noticed?

Or could the information be going to someone else?

Then another possibility hit her and she looked up suspiciously.

Was the store bugged?

Trying to act calm and like she was just looking for a box of pens, Ana-Monique stood and systematically began searching the office. She had no idea what she was actually looking for - her only experience with listening devices were what she saw in holos, but how accurate were those, really? She could only hope it would _look_ like an illicit electronic bug.

She checked the lamps and behind picture frames first, where the device wouldn’t be noticed or muffled, and then she moved on to the boxes on the shelves. It occurred to her that even though she was the manager, she had no idea what were in those boxes. When she’d taken over the job several months back, she’d assumed they were things like holiday decorations and toner on the rare occasion they had to print something out.

Now, however, she noticed that most of the boxes were unlabeled and she’d been through the winter holiday season without opening a single one. The first box she opened did, actually have toner (good to know). The second had several old external hard drives (backups, she assumed, which these days was the kind of practice only the most paranoid business manager maintained).

She went through the entire shelf and found nothing.

Frustrated, Ana-Monique fell back into her swivel chair, exhaling sharply. She swiveled back and forth, trying to jostle her brain into coming up with the answer. None of her normal, realistic ideas (realistic being relative - she knew the A/C duct poison idea was a huge stretch) were panning out. So what if she went with her most _un_ realistic ideas?

Ana-Monique glanced around the office. She had inherited it from the last manager just months before and she hadn’t gotten around to adding her own touches to it yet. The walls still had holo posters from the previous guy, who was into the guy-explosion-action sort of holo. Was the answer in a James Bond level of unrealistic?

Ana-Moniques eyes fell on her keychain on the desk, which had a sparkly light-up letter A made of plastic-glass slippers from her last visit to Disney World (London, but she thought Paris was better).

  
And things suddenly began to make a crazy, _fantastic_ sort of sense.


	9. Chapter 9

William didn’t have much influence with Angel. He knew that. It even made sense. Angel had always been the mentor, the grown-up. He knew more, and that had meant - for most of William’s life - that he was always right.

The illusion that the adults in his life were always right had been broken by now, of course, but that didn’t mean that they still weren’t _mostly_ right, and who was William to argue? What sort of wisdom did William have over his mother _or_ Angel?

Well. Enough to know that Angel was dead wrong, here. No pun intended.

William had had enough of his mother’s relationship with his grandmother; he could see why they’d avoided individual time together over the years, making sure that visits happened during holidays or other events with other family would be present, too. This constant approval-disapproval thing sucked, and though now William could understand Angel’s reluctance to spend unnecessary time with his own mother, William didn’t think the time was unnecessary at all. He thought it was very necessary. If there was a chance at reconciliation, William’s mother had always taught him that he should take it.

William wasn’t letting his mother off the hook, either. While his mother and grandmother tried to agree on an afternoon outing, William concocted a plan: a plan to force both mothers-and-children to spend time alone together _and_ to spring William’s release so he could help Calder figure out the foot curse problem.

William was deeply proud of himself. He thought he might have to get a gold star sticker when this was all over.

* * *

Judith reacted the way William expected her to when he pulled her aside into his bedroom to talk: shock at the idea of Angel’s mother ghosting around Uptown followed by amusement at the irony that now _he_ was having to deal with what _she_ …

“Oh,” she said, her face falling. “Poor Angel.”

William held back a sigh. “I think he’s going to regret not trying to make amends before he has to kill her again,” he said. “I think we should get her out of that church and back to Angel’s place. And if not for him, for how freaking weird it is for a lady in 18th century clothing to be wandering around accidentally going through things. Father Murray shouldn’t have to be the one to deal with that; he’s got to run services tomorrow.” William added an expression that said, _Look how empathetic I’m being right now_.

Judith nodded, frowning. “Of course,” she agreed. “You’re absolutely right. Father Murray shouldn’t have to be the middleman here, and Angel… Well, you know we can’t force anything here, Will?” She ran her fingers affectionately through his hair. “Angel does things in his own way and on his own time, and right now his time is rather busy…”

“I know,” William nodded. “It just doesn’t sit right with me that he’s just going to leave her there until he can undo the spell. Which they have to do at a cemetery, so they have to get her to leave the church eventually anyway. I thought maybe you and _Maimeó_ could help.”

Judith blinked, her hand falling from William’s head. “Me and... _Maimeó?_ ”

William’s eyes widened innocently. “Well, _Maimeó_ does have the most in common with Angel’s mother, doesn’t she? They're both Catholic, at least. If the problem is that Angel’s mother doesn’t trust him on account of who he is… Well, _Maimeó_ knows him as a Knight of the Cross.” He grinned. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

“That, or things turn disastrous very quickly,” Judith replied, arching skeptical eyebrows.

William sighed shortly and switched tracks. “Look, Mum, Angel and Calder need me to help research this foot mutilation thing. We’ve only got until midnight. If you and _Maimeó_ are off at church, then you don’t need me with you, and I can try to figure out how to contact Cordelia and run ideas with Cal. It’s a win for everyone.”

Judith stared at him for a long moment, her expression softening a little guiltily. “Yes,” she finally said in a quiet voice. “I see your point. Of course we should try to reach out to Angel’s mother if we have the chance. And you should go help Calder. That’s more important.”

William let out a relieved breath and smiled. “Thanks, Mum. I’ll go call Angel. You should probably drive up if you don’t want to have to deal with a ghost on a tram on you way back...”

* * *

Angel was not so sure about this plan at all. He’d protested out of hand until William pointed out they needed him to help with the foot curse. Angel had almost replied that he could help Calder instead going to church to extract his mother, but then he remembered - again, and with another sting - that this was the boys’ mission, not his. They called the shots, and William had called his.

So he’d bitterly agreed to pick up Judith and Guinevere and take them to St. Mark’s, and ten minutes later sat in the visitor’s lot of the small parking garage next to their building. Gripping his hands on the steering wheel, he said tentatively, “ _A Mhuirnín?_ ” Interacting with technology always made him a bit nervous. The car’s console blinked in response.

“Yes, Angel?” the car responded in a sweet female voice.

Angel suppressed a shiver. It wasn’t so bad back when the computers sounded like computers, but computers sounding like humans creeped him out. “Can you send a message to Judith Cole with my location telling her I’m here?”

“Right away!” _A Mhuirnín_ replied. “Done. Can I do anything else for you?”

Angel thought for a second. “Play classical music. Low volume.”

“My pleasure. Anything else?”

“No,” Angel replied. “Er… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Seconds later, Stravinsky started playing through the speakers at a volume that was low for humans, but perfect for him. Several more seconds later, the music lowered and _A Mhuirnín_ interrupted, saying, “Judith Cole says that they’re on their way, and she wanted me to thank you.”

“I’ll be she did,” Angel muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” the car asked. “Would you like to send a response?”

“No, thanks,” Angel said a little more loudly. The music resumed.

A minute later, Judith and Guinevere appeared through the door to the building straight ahead, and Angel suddenly felt very self-conscious about...everything. Was it a vibe Guinevere exuded or just Judith’s biased influence?

Judith slid into the front seat after her mother insisted that she’d rather sit in the back. Angel quickly adjusted the rearview mirror so that she wouldn’t notice his lack of a reflection, and when everyone was settled, Angel pulled out of the garage.

“I still don’t quite understand what we’re doing,” Guinevere said.

They’d decided to tell Guinevere that Angel’s mother was mentally ill and needed to be taken back to the hospital, but couldn’t be convinced to go. It was the easiest way to explain her dress, her speech, why she needed to come with Angel, and why she might call her son a vampire. If it came up.

So Angel told her, “It’s kind of better that way.”

“Mm,” Guinevere grunted. “I don’t know what you think _I_ can do… Judy’s the one in counseling.”

“Pillar therapy,” Judith corrected under her breath, but Angel honestly wasn’t sure what the difference was.

“We think she’ll relate to you,” Angel told her. “You know, someone her age, her gender…” Someone her religion and harboring the same fears for her children’s souls… “Just...don’t mention the hospital,” Angel advised. “And don’t try to touch her. She’s...been recently traumatized.”

Judith’s head jerked toward him the slightest bit, but Angel pretended not to notice.

After several quiet minutes, made even quieter when they reached the edge of Uptown and Angel had to switch back over to the electric engine, Guinevere said conversationally, “So what do you do, Angel? I can’t imagine the Knights can afford to pay you much…”

In other words, how did he come to be able to afford a car like this? A few hundred years of investment wasn’t going to suffice as an answer. Angel fumbled for a minute before replying, “I’m a consultant. And. Tutor…” He glanced sideways at Judith. “But I inherited the car, if that’s what you’re wondering. Rich uncle.”

“Ah, I see,” Guinevere said with mild interest. “And the church we’re going to is your family church, I’m assuming.”

“That...would be a reasonable assumption,” Angel said slowly. Then he added, “The church I grew up in is gone, actually. Paved over for development.”

“Isn’t that a shame?” Guinevere sighed.

“It is,” Angel replied, meaning it. “It was a beautiful old building. Simple, but I kind of think the point of churches is modesty anyway.”

“Oh, I agree,” Guinevere said emphatically. Out of the corner of his eye, Angel could see Judith give him a surprised look. “Nothing wrong with the occasional monument of worship, but functionally we don’t need anything fancy.”

Angel nodded. “Right? I mean, Notre Dame, the Sistine Chapel: they’re all incredible works of art but the faith just doesn’t concentrate there the same way is does in say...” He waved his hand vaguely, “A convent or a monastery.”

Guinevere shifted, leaning forward to look at him better. From the seat in front of her, Judith’s look of incredulity at Angel deepened. “ _Yes_ ,” Guinevere breathed. “Have you spent much time in a monastery, then?”

Angel shifted, too, a little uncomfortably. “Well, I’ve never lived in one,” he admitted. “But they’ve always held a draw for me.”

As they pulled into the parking lot at St. Mark’s, Guinevere agreed enthusiastically with him. “Not that I think I’m called for that life,” she said as Angel pulled up under the covered entrance and parked as off to the side as possible. “But I do find them rejuvenating to visit.”

“Yeah,” Angel chuckled as the topic steadily dropped off into _deeply uncomfortable_. He turned off the car and unbuckled his seat belt. “Me too.” He got out quickly and the others followed.

Angel led the way in through the double glass front doors, now unlocked, and across the small foyer. Everything in the foyer was stone, including the tables that displayed informational screens and flowers and, from the long-imbued smell, coffee and pastries on Sundays. To the right, at the end of the long foyer, was a door leading to the fellowship hall and classrooms (according to the sign). Immediately to the left was a short hall of offices, and in front was an entrance to the sanctuary, which ran at a slight angle away from the foyer. In the triangle gap between foyer and sanctuary, widening off to the right as the rooms separated, was a garden visible through large glass windows.

Angel liked this church. He didn’t come often, but the care that had gone into its design and upkeep was born of faith, not pride, and it made Angel’s flesh tingle pleasantly. Most vampires would have found it itchy and uncomfortable, but Angel had always secretly liked it. It was why he had a thing for convents. The pleasant tingle of a simple church condensed into the devotion and permanence of a convent felt more like a…

Well, now was not the time to be thinking of such things.

They paused at the open doorway and looked in. Brona was still seated in there, staring up at the crucifix. A few other people were there now, too, either praying in pews or lighting candles.

“I still don’t know what you expect me to say,” Guinevere said with a small huff of nervousness.

Neither did Angel. This had been William’s idea. “Just talk to her,” Angel shrugged, looking at her. “See what comes up. It’s not the end of the world if she won’t come with us now.” It really _really_ wasn’t. “But the seeds at least need to be planted for when we do need to...take her home.”

“I’ve never been one for heart-to-hearts,” Guinevere replied, and behind her Judith made an expression that said, _Don’t I know it?_

“It doesn’t have to be a heart-to-heart,” Angel said. “She’s just…” Stubborn? Closed? Upset? “...Lost.”

That seemed to click with Guinevere, who turned and gave Angel a sad look and a nod. Then she stepped out of the doorway and into the sanctuary, heading for Angel’s mother.

Angel and Judith stayed behind in the doorway to watch Guinevere try to connect with Brona and unknowingly convince her that she _should_ in fact go with her vampire son to eventually let him perform dark arts on her that should - if all went well - lead to her permanent death.

“This is never going to work,” Angel muttered under his breath.

“You don’t know my mother,” Judith replied quietly. “She can be quite persuasive.”

“You don’t know mine,” Angel countered. “Apparently, she’s just like my father…”

Guinevere reached the pew Brona was sitting in and slid in beside her with barely a nod of her silvery-grey head, the space between them respectful of the boundaries between strangers. Guinevere clasped her hands and closed her eyes in prayer.

“Apparently?” Judith asked beside Angel.

Angel hadn’t exactly meant to say that, but now that he had... “Oh, you know,” he whispered back. “Closed-minded, judgmental, unwilling to forgive their wayward parricidal son…”

“Give the last one some time,” she advised.

“And the first two?”

Judith sighed and Angel looked at her. She looked exhausted, he noticed for the first time. Not physically, but emotionally. There was something about her that sagged with fatigue, but it wasn’t her hair, clipped back today, or her dancer-trained body posture. Her eyes? Must be her eyes. She looked at him.

Definitely her eyes.

“They do it out of love, Angel. It took me forever to realize it, but it’s true. Whatever a parent does or says, it’s out of love and a hope that their children will turn out better than they did.”

The corner of Angel’s mouth twitched and he turned back to look out into the sanctuary. “Guess I crushed _those_ hopes…”

Angel could almost hear the returning smile in Judith’s voice. “Probably,” she agreed, “but perhaps not irrevocably.”

“I killed our entire family,” Angel pointed out. “How do you forgive devastation like that?”

“Would you have been willing to forgive Connor, if he’d been compelled by an absolute evil force?”

Angel’s stomach jolted with an odd combination of heartbroken sickness at the memory of the devastating things Connor _had_ done and at the same time the tranquil love that had allowed him to forgive Connor almost immediately, even through his anger. And Connor hadn’t been compelled by an absolute evil force, which made it so much worse. Still, if Connor _had_ been compelled and gone on to murder the rest of their _Angel Investigations_ family in cold blood? Angel swallowed.

“Yeah.”

Beside him, Judith nodded.

“But I still don’t think my mother would,” Angel added. He thrust his hands deep into his coat pockets and his right hand found a pocket knife to toy with absently as he watched Brona and Guinevere on the pew. Guinevere was still in prayer.

“Why not?”

Angel tried to keep his tone nonchalant, even though they were wading into deeply personal things about his human past. It was one thing to admit to having killed people because you happen to be a vampire. It was quite another to admit that there were things from your childhood that still hurt.

“Because she’s set in her ways. She’s an 18th century Irish Catholic woman who lived her whole life with no power, no voice; except to add to the authority of her husband or her church. Her judgments have to align with the divine judgments of her superiors, or she has no hope for salvation.” And he’d always resented her inability to step in and mediate between himself and his father.

Angel gave a half-shrug. “Maybe if we’d been a modern family things would have been different.”

“Maybe,” Judith agreed softly. “But look at my mother.”

Instead, Angel turned his head away from Guinevere to look at Judith, mildly surprised.

“We all have to choose our philosophies to live by, Angel,” Judith continued. “My mother chose Catholicism and she’d be damned if anyone proved themselves more devout than she.”

“Literally,” Angel added.

Judith nodded. “But the happy thing about Christianity is that it allows for hope, even until the very last moment. For both of our mothers, Angel, it’s built-in to their worldview. Yours might yet come around.”

Angel looked back into the sanctuary. Brona and Guinevere were talking quietly, now, both looking quite serious and also quite...sad. Angel sighed. “And if she doesn’t...then this church is going to gain its very own ghost.”

* * *

Brona ignored the woman sitting next to her. It wasn’t for her to mind where other parishioners sat. And she was still listening for answers. Patience was a virtue, she’d been taught, and her patience was exhausting her. But what else could she do?

At length, the other woman stirred and crossed herself. She shifted to go, but paused and said quietly in the air that hummed with comforting sanctity,

“I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.”

Brona breathed a sigh of humorless laughter.

“Ah,” the woman whispered knowingly. “Then I hope He finds you.”

Brona looked at the woman for the first time. Her hair was mostly grey except for several darker locks that wove in and out of the loosely twisted rope of hair pinned to her head. Her eyes were grey-blue and sharp, but the edges were softened with gentleness.

“I cannot blame Him if I am so hard to find,” Brona said.

“No,” the woman agreed. “There’s another to blame for that.”

Brona nearly laughed again. Truer words she hadn’t heard in a long time. “Thank you for your kindness,” Brona told the woman. “I hope that you find what _you’re_ looking for.”

“Oh, I’m not here for me,” the woman said, turning to look back up at the massive wooden crucifix that seemed to Brona to float above the altar. “I was praying for my grandson. I worry about the influences in his life.”

“How old is he?” Brona asked.

“Seventeen,” the woman replied. “Never a riper time for straying from the path, don’t you think?”

“I do,” Brona agreed. Liam had been about that age when everything started.

Well, in hindsight she supposed the kindling had sparked well before that, but she hadn’t seen the smoke until then.

“And his mother - my daughter - is no help,” the woman continued quietly. Her expression melted into a bit of sadness, but she pulled it back in again with a quickness that impressed Brona. She had had to school many a similar expression. “She has a good heart,” the woman said softly. “If only that were enough…”

Silence fell between them for a long moment before the woman drew in a breath. “I’m sorry to disturb you.” She shifted again as to make to leave.

“What can we do?” Brona asked. The woman looked at her again. “When we have raised our children in the way they should go, and yet they depart from it anyway? And then hurt...others as a result?”

The woman narrowed her eyes with confused concern. Then she seemed to realize something and relaxed again, giving her a bit of a shrug and saying, “Have faith that it’s not over and the departure is temporary.”

Temporary. Her family was dead. _She_ was dead.

“And you know,” the woman continued, “good hearts do count for _something_. My grandson seems to be a fine, respectful, honest young man, even without the relationship with our Father I wish he had. Perhaps if I had known him better as a child, I could have been more of an influence now…” There was a tone of regret to her words that implied more than just wanting a ministerial influence with her grandson. “Well. The best we can do is keep praying, right?”

“I can only hope that’s enough,” Brona replied.

“That’s all anyone can do.” The woman sighed and stood up. “Your son wants to take care of you,” she said, and Brona jerked her head up toward her in surprise. “Angel. I don’t know him well at all, but my daughter and grandson seem to think he’s an honorable man, at least. I think they’re probably right.”

Honorable. Did they know? Could they?

“I don’t know the...situation,” the woman continued, hedging. “But I think that things have changed from what you remember. I do think Angel has found his calling.”

Brona sniffed lightly, blinking back a tear. Things _had_ certainly changed; she’d noticed that, in all her time sitting there trying to pray and only seeing the last day’s memories in her mind. She’d seen the changes between Liam and the Monster, and even in the Monster and...whoever he was now. He had invited himself into the brothel, but he hadn’t gone in to kill (nor, she she had to admit, did he even stay to participate in the fornication - though what he _had_ done she still didn’t understand). He had respected her request in taking her to church. He had _tried_ to make an apology.

The woman offered Brona a handkerchief for her eyes, but Brona politely refused.

“Will you come with us, then?” the woman asked.

Us? Brona twisted and looked toward the back of the sanctuary. He stood there, part in shadow, with another woman who looked to be about Brona’s age. The woman’s daughter, presumably. The sight of him made Brona’s stomach churn nervously, though he didn’t look much more comfortable.

“You know,” the woman said softly, “my daughter has had many changes of heart, but the soul cannot change. That’s how I know she is still a good person, despite her mistakes.”

The soul. The vampire… _Angel_...kept talking about having a soul like it meant something. Like it changed what he was. Obviously, it couldn’t do _that_ … But it could change _who_ he was, couldn’t it? Liam’s body had been taken over by a demon - could his soul have then taken it back?

Brona took a deep breath and looked back up at the crucifix. She hadn’t been able to pray very well, but God didn’t require concentration as much as He required sincerity. She had hardly ever been so sincere in her request for guidance, peace, resolution. The second two had yet to come, but this woman was the first person to even speak to her, aside from the vampire. And what she had said made a deep, resonating sort of sense. Perhaps this was the guidance she’d been asking for.

Brona stood up, decided. She turned to the woman and nodded. The woman smiled, looking a bit surprised.

“My name is Guinevere,” she said, inclining her head as she backed out of Brona’s way. “Guinevere Thacker.”

“Brona Magann,” Brona replied, also inclining her head. She fell into step just behind Guinevere Thacker so that her skirts wouldn’t accidentally go through her as they walked toward the foyer where the vam-- where Angel waited.


	10. Chapter 10

Angel owed Judith a drink at the Dragon’s Crown for being right about her mother’s persuasiveness. He watched them approach down the center aisle, impressed with Guinevere in spite of the simultaneous sense of dread gathering in his stomach. Now he would have his mother back in tow. She really hadn’t seemed much of a bother to Father Mur--

“Can I help you?” a young woman asked. She was wearing clerical robes and was holding a tablet in one hand and behind her, the door to Father Murray’s office swung shut like she’d just come through it. She seemed slightly harried.

“No, thanks,” Angel said, confused. Guinevere and Brona reached them as he asked, “Isn’t Father Murray in today?”

“No, he’s on vacation this week,” she replied. “Mediterranean cruise. Completely out of reach until tomorrow evening. If there’s something I can help you with in the meantime…?”

Oh. Well, then. “...No thanks,” Angel said again. “He’s just...going to have some very strange messages when he gets back. You can tell him to ignore them.”

She nodded and said goodbye, hurrying off with half her attention on her tablet.

Which left the four of them standing there staring at each other.

“Um,” Angel said quickly to break the silence. He indicated to Judith with his hand. “This is Judith. Cole. Judith, Brona Magann.”

Judith looked like she was about to offer her hand but then remembered that she couldn’t, so she inclined her head the same way her mother had done with a “Pleasure to meet you.” Brona returned it with, “And you.”

Just as the standing there and staring at each other started to make a comeback, Angel shifted and gestured toward the doors. “Well, we should…”

“Actually,” Guinevere said, “if you wouldn’t mind I’d like to use the ladies’ room.”

Angel minded quite a bit, but he obviously couldn’t say so, so he nodded and Guinevere headed off toward the sign for the bathrooms next to the Fellowship Hall. The silence resumed. The awkward shifting commenced. Even Judith seemed at a loss for words, and that was a new experience on Angel.

Eventually, he remembered that it would be considerate to fill Brona in on who knew what, so he said quickly, eyeing the door to the bathroom, “Judith knows everything, by the way. How...I’m a vampire...and you’re...kind of a ghost…” Smooth and tactful, that was Angel.

“A vampire with a soul,” Judith added. “That’s an important qualification.”

“Right,” Angel agreed quickly, grateful to her. The more people who said it mattered, the more weight it would add. “But Guinevere is just visiting from Limerick, so she...doesn’t. Know.”

Brona nodded, taking that in.

“Not that people from Limerick can’t know,” Angel continued because he didn’t know how else to continue. “It’s just that I’ve known Judith a long time - and her son - and so they know, but I only just met--”

“Angel,” Judith interrupted calmly.

“Right,” he agreed. “Not important.”

Brona seemed to be considering him carefully. “You can enter church grounds,” she observed.

“Yeah. It’s a public building,” he replied. “All are welcome.”

Brona nodded, letting that sink in. “That was why you were asking to be invited in last night,” she realized suddenly. “To enter the… The home. It truly _wasn’t_ a brothel.”

“A what?” Judith asked, looking at him.

“A _home_ ,” Angel repeated to her. “Not a brothel. We just established this. But yes,” he said, turning back to Brona. “That was why I asked if I could come in. I needed to stop the curse kicking in at midnight.”

Brona tilted her head a little sideways. She opened her mouth to speak, but mercifully the bathroom door opened and Guinevere appeared again. Angel turned and led the way toward the doors before anyone else could say anything and he held them open for everyone to file through.

“Dear,” Angel heard Guinevere say quietly to Judith, but before she could continue, Judith interrupted with a bit of irritation,

“Yes, Ma, I know, I’m sitting in the back with you.”

Angel almost smiled knowingly.

* * *

Angel ended up dropping Judith and Guinevere off at one of New Galway’s more popular shopping districts on the way home, thanking the elder for her help and also promising to release William back to them as soon as he could.

“No,” Judith told him before getting out of the car. “He’s doing important things. He should be with you.”

Angel glanced quickly at Guinevere, who was already waiting on the sidewalk. He lowered his voice. “You sure?”

“Of course,” she replied, just as quietly. “I used to live with the woman. I’ll be fine.” She gave him a smile and a pat on his forearm, and then said again to Brona that it had been nice to meet her, and slid across the seat and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

As soon as the door closed, Brona let out a breath like she’d been holding it the whole time and asked, “What _is_ this contraption?”

“A car,” Angel replied, adjusting the mirror so he could see out the back again. “‘Course, back when they were invented, we called them ‘horseless carriages.’ Didn’t think they’d catch on, to be honest. Too expensive and loud.” He pulled out into the late afternoon traffic.

After a moment, Brona murmured, sounding weary, “So much has changed. It’s difficult to…”

“I know,” Angel replied. “Sometimes it’s even difficult for _me_ to… And I lived through it.”

They turned a corner onto one of the busier roads. Brona said softly, staring out the window beside her, “And now this is your life…”

Angel’s fingers played with the bottom of the steering wheel, the edges of his nails dragging lightly over the surface. “I’ve made the most of it,” he replied softly. Then he remembered that for the better part of the last 200 years, he _hadn’t_ made the most of it. He’d only...existed. Settled. Seen to it that Connor was happy. Before that had been a brief stint as a Champion. Before that, 100 years of misery. Before that, 150 years of murder.

“You’ve made _something_ of it,” Brona agreed. “I’m not certain what ‘the most’ is in a case like this.”

Angel let out a huff of laughter. “Yeah, me either,” he agreed.

Silence fell again. Angel let his mother stare out the window at the people and buildings, alone with her thoughts and he with his. His only plan was to take her back to his flat, where the boys were researching and - he thought but wasn’t sure - attempting to contact Cordelia to follow up on her vengeance demon connections. It wasn’t the kind of environment he really wanted to bring Brona into, but he didn’t see what other choice he had.

“Is anything left?” Brona asked quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

Angel blinked and looked at her. “Of Galway? Sure. The original town is still there, just off that way.” He gestured west. “Most things outside the wall are gone, though. Our house, our church… I can’t even find where they were.”

She turned to look at him curiously. “You haven’t been here the whole 462 years, then?”

“No,” he replied. They slowed to a stop at a red light and Angel left his hand on the gear shift when he moved it to neutral, gripping it. “I left shortly after…” he shifted uncomfortably. “After. I hadn’t actually been back until about 40 years ago.” He glanced sideways at his mother, stomach clenching almost to nausea. “I brought my son to live here. Land of his heritage.”

“Your--” Brona stared at him, stunned. “I didn’t realize vampires…”

“They can’t,” Angel replied. “It should have been impossible. _Doubly_ impossible; his mother was a vampire, too.” The light turned green and Angel started forward again. “The vampire who turned me, actually.” He took in a deep breath. “I’m obviously not Catholic anymore, but that...Connor’s birth...sure made me believe in something.”

“Connor?” Brona repeated quietly.

“Yeah. After Grandfather.”

In his peripheral vision, he thought he could almost see a smile on her expression. Something in his stomach released its clench a little bit.

“Would you…” Angel swallowed and tried again. “Do you want to go see him?”

Brona looked at him with a deeply calculating gaze. Angel turned onto the street he lived on.

“Yes,” she said after a seemingly eternal moment. “I would.”

Angel drove right past his building and turned left, toward Connor’s retirement home.

* * *

“I know Angel loves his books,” Calder said wearily, closing the one in his lap, “but I’m beginning to think they’re kind of useless.”

“They’re not useless,” William replied, just as wearily. “They’re just...slow. Nothing in that one about interdimensional communication?”

“Nope,” Calder replied. “But honestly, Will, even if we do figure out how, which dimension are we going to call? It’s not like Cordelia left us her address. We should have asked the other night...”

William grumbled, “Aren’t guides supposed to be accessible?”

“Only at the last dire second, I think,” Calder replied.

William stood up from the couch where he and Calder were sitting and began to pace the living room, like Angel often did when he was thinking. “What if we just...pray?” he suggested after a minute. “That’s like interdimensional communication, right?”

Calder shrugged. “I guess that’s the idea…” he agreed slowly. “You try it.”

William stopped pacing in the middle of the room, shoved his hands in his pockets, and closed his eyes. The only prayers he knew were from various holiday masses he’d gone to when they visited his grandmother as a child. He didn’t think Cordelia would get the message through an Our Father or a rendition of Silent Night.

“Dear Cordelia,” he started. It sounded more like a letter than a prayer, but at least the message pointed in her direction, now. “We think this foot mutilation curse thing might have something to do with vengeance demons and we would really like to ask you some questions about it - as a professional consultant, not as a cheap way to get answers for our mission. Just to be clear. If you could come by as soon as possible, we’d really appreciate it. Thanks. Sincerely, William Cole and Calder Lauchley.”

William peeked his eyes open. Calder was sitting on the couch in front of him, looking around to see if anything happened. William glanced around, too. Angel’s flat was completely still.

“Damn,” William muttered.

“It was a good try,” Calder told him. “Maybe it takes some time. You did say ‘as soon as possible.’ Maybe right now isn’t possible.”

“Yeah,” William agreed, shoulders slumping. “Maybe I should have gone to church with Angel and Mum and _Maimeó_. Maybe churches boost the signal.”

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Calder told him. “Arranged it, I mean.”

“Why?” William pulled his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms across his chest. “They were all being immature about everything. I was tired of it, and Angel will definitely thank me later. Maybe not for fifty years, but he _will_ thank me.”

Calder tilted his head and shrugged with one shoulder. “Depending on how it goes, maybe,” he replied. “But come on: Angel _killed_ his mother. He drank her blood from her neck. Would you forgive your kid if they did that to you?”

William tapped his foot on Angel’s hardwood floor, thinking. It was hard enough picturing himself having kids, much less getting killed by one of them. “Angel forgave Connor,” he reminded Calder. “And I bet my mum would forgive me. So yeah, I hope I would.”

Calder lifted his eyebrows and he shrugged again. “I don’t know, man. You have to have a pretty good relationship with your kids for that to work out. Angel’s never talked about him and his mum, which doesn’t exactly point to stellar.”

“It also doesn’t point to crappy,” William replied. “And anyway, Angel’s a totally different person now. Even if human-him didn’t have a good relationship with her, that doesn’t mean that now-him can’t.” William unfolded his arms, sighing. “Look, it’s done. They’re at church and whatever’s happening is happening, and we have a curses to figure out.”

Calder nodded, eyeing the stack of books on the apothecary table with an already-bored expression. He groaned in frustration and rubbed at his forehead the same way William had seen Angel do before. “Okay,” Calder sighed through his hand. “What do we have? A probably-cursed store/object/maybe-but-probably-not person.” He held up a thumb for this point and a finger for each proceeding one. “Or a probably-not-but-maybe possession: Some entity that targets people who just bought a pair of perfectly-fitting shoes at one particular store. The store is independently-owned, so we can’t check if other branches have had the same problem. The shoe brands and manufacturers are dead ends. There is no common thread between size, style, color, or any other factor we can think of. The victims also have no common factor, although there’s only been one man.”

“Do you suppose he’s transitioning?” William asked suddenly. “Maybe the thing homes in on higher levels of estrogen in the body.”

“He had a pretty deep voice,” Calder replied skeptically. “If he is, he’s been on T for a while. Also, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and I didn’t notice any surgery scars. I mean, it was dark and I wasn’t exactly looking, but if he did, it’d be long healed.” Then he added quickly at William’s disappointed slump, “But that could be something to look into anyway…”

William knelt down by the apothecary table and pulled one of the scraps of paper they’d be using to jot down notes to write it down.

“Let’s see…” Calder continued, thinking. “The curse/possession starts exactly at midnight and stops at 12:01. If the foot-slicing doesn’t happen in that time, it tries again by the next night.”

“Let’s cross possession off, Cal,” William said. “What kind of ghost can take over multiple people at once?”

“One that has mind powers?” Calder guessed. “Oh! What if it’s a _person_ , like a sorcerer or something controlling people from afar!”

William perked up at the idea. “Someone who knows who found perfect fits at the store, like an employee or something--”

“--Or Ms. Sheffield,” Calder suggested.

“Or Ms. Sheffield,” William nodded, getting excited. “They could slip something into the box like a hex bag or something--”

“--And that ensures the curse keeps starting every midnight--”

“--Or gives the sorcerer-or-ess a way into everyone’s minds at midnight, controlling them!”

William stood up on his knees as Calder leaned forward. “But mind control over multiple people is difficult, so they can only do it for a minute before they have to rest and try again the next night! _Damn_ we’re good!”

William leaned over the table to high-five Calder. “Come on! Let’s go find Ms. Sheffield!”

* * *

Angel had to park under the covered entrance of St. Anthony’s, too. He wasn’t supposed to, but the sun was still too high to park in the lot and the staff knew about his bursting-into-flames condition. He’d told them when he’d moved Connor in, figuring it was easier that way. Connor was their longest living resident by far, and if the way he’d managed to charm the staff hadn’t allowed Angel any perks (like being able to park by the front door), then the steady stream of rent he promised sure did.

Angel led Brona in through the automatic doors (she’d whispered, “Goodness,” when they opened in front of them) and veered to the right toward both the hall where Connor lived and the reception desk. No one was there at the moment, so Angel went up to the sign-in kiosk. It lit up as he approached, recognizing the signal from his Palm, and automatically signed him in. Angel tapped the “And Guest” button on the screen and signed Brona in, too. He wasn’t quite sure why; it wasn’t like she would need to be accounted for as an incorporeal being. It just seemed right. Then without a word, Angel led her toward Connor’s room.

They paused outside his door. On the way over, Angel had explained the essentials of Connor’s story and condition to the best and most succinct of his ability: that there had been a prophecy of Connor’s birth and destiny, that Darla had given her life for their son, that “very very bad things” happened which “would take way too long to get into,” but that ended with Connor’s destiny being taken away again before he was even 25. He explained that Connor had struggled with depression on and off for most of his extended life, but eventually dementia began to set in. “And now he’s happy, I guess,” Angel had finished, “since he doesn’t remember what made him sad.”

The recounting of Connor’s story sparked that familiar, deeply-rooted fury in Angel’s gut again. It never really died, but remembering it stoked the embers and his insides sometimes ached with the fatigue of it. But how could there ever be a different, more appropriate reaction? It was his son.

Connor’s door was open and Angel could hear the TV on in the room. He turned to Brona, thinking about saying something about what to expect, but then he decided that she could just follow his lead. It wasn’t like any harm could be done.

Angel rapped his knuckles on the door as he went in. “Connor?”

Connor was asleep in his chair, mouth hanging half-open. His wispy white hair drooped in front of his eyes like a fresh dusting of snow and his bony, purpling hands twitched at the blanket on his lap like a cat gently curling its paws.

Angel turned off the TV and pulled an extra chair over for Brona to sit on. She stared at Connor with a silent, unreadable expression, and Angel had to tell her about the chair to get her to notice it. As she sat down, Angel reached out to tenderly brush the hair from Connor’s eyes, and he jerked awake.

“Sorry, sorry,” Connor said in his gravely old voice. “I must have nodded off. Where were we?”

“Nowhere,” Angel replied. “We just got here. Sorry to disturb your nap.”

“Oh,” Connor visibly relaxed. “Good. I thought I was being rude.”

“Not at all,” Angel told him, smiling as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Connor, I want you to meet someone.” He nodded toward Brona. “This is Brona Magann. She’s...family.” Angel had been about to say _your grandmother_ but some days when Connor grappled with confusing things he got upset, while other days he just shrugged it off as a lost cause. Angel wasn’t quite willing to test which it was going to be today just yet.

“Family?” Connor repeated, turning stiffly to look at Brona. “Hello, there. My family or your family?”

“Our family,” Angel replied.

Connor looked at Angel, now, confusion darkening his Magann brow. “Are we family? _Oh_ that’s right, we are. I remember.” He paused and then asked, “How are we family again?”

Angel smiled. “Let’s just leave it at ‘family’ for now, okay?”

With effort, Connor shrugged and looked back at Brona. “And she’s family, too?” he asked, trying to make the pieces fit.

“She is,” Angel replied.

Brona stirred in her seat; her first movement since sitting down. The unreadable expression was starting to loosen, revealing awe and something like reverence. “Hello, Connor,” she said softly. “I’m very glad to meet you.”

“And you,” Connor replied. “You look like you’re going to a party.”

Brona looked a bit confused, so Angel said, “Because of your dress.”

“Oh,” she said, looking down at herself. “No, this is just what I decided to wear today.”

Connor grunted with interest. “You must be very sophisticated, then. Where do you live?”

Brona opened her mouth to answer automatically and then seemed to be caught off guard. Of course. She didn’t ‘live’ anywhere. “Here,” she answered after a moment. “I’m from Galway.”

“Oh really? I haven’t seen you around town. ‘Course, I don’t get out much.” He glanced at Angel.

Angel smiled at him. “We go for a drive at least once a week, Connor.”

“Once a week,” Connor scoffed, although there was a twinkle in his eye. “I used to go out every day.”

“Would you like to go out every day?” Angel asked.

Connor thought about this for a moment. “Nah,” he finally said, waving his hand dismissively, like he always did when that question came up. “I’m too old for that.”

“And how old are you, Connor?” Angel asked him. The answer was always interesting. Sometimes, he was aware that he was impossibly old for a human. Other times - Angel suspected when he’d been particularly social with the other residents - he guessed something far younger.

Connor thought about this, too, opening and closing his mouth in indecision over his answer. Finally, he said, “Well, over a hundred…”

“That’s right,” Angel nodded. “How far over?”

Again, Connor deliberated, occasionally looking to Brona like she might give him a clue. “A hundred and ten?” he finally guessed.

“Try two hundred and thirteen,” Angel replied.

“I am _not_ ,” Connor said incredulously.

“You are,” Angel insisted.

“He’s bluffing,” Connor said to Brona. “ _Two hundred and thirteen_. I don’t remember how old I _am_ , but I’m old enough not to fall for _that!_ ”

Angel smiled in amusement. “Alright, then, if you say so. So what did you do today, Connor?”

“God only knows,” Connor replied, shrugging. “I might’ve written it down…” He turned his left hand over, palm up, and tapped the silver bracelet on his wrist, bringing up the holographic projection of his Palm. Brona jumped slightly and stared at it in wonder. Connor bumbled through bringing up his notes with a muttered “damn technology” (though his bumbling was more due to poor coordination than the tech itself. Connor had been quite good at it a few decades ago).

“Here we go,” he finally said, adjusting in his seat and magnifying the lettering so he could read it. “Breakfast was fine. French toast with blueberries, and they were very ripe. Then we went out in the gardens and there were a lot of birds singing. Then Norm and I played chess, which he won on account of being able to remember how to play. Lunch was fine, I guess, though it doesn’t say what we had. Then there was TV in the common room and someone brought a tiny horse in to say hi. _Oh!_ ” Connor’s eyes lit up as he remembered. “You should have seen it, Angel: a miniature horse, here inside the building! I’ve never seen such a thing!” (He had, actually, since the owner brought the horse in several times a month.) “Very well-behaved. It didn’t even shit on the floor!”

Angel chuckled and asked if he got to feed the horse anything.

“Didn’t have anything to give it,” Connor replied. “If I’d known, I’d have swiped an apple from the kitchen.”

Connor went on for a while about the horse, whose name was Peanut (he hadn’t written it down, but Angel remembered from previous descriptions). After the horse’s visit, Connor had come back to his room and fallen asleep in front of the TV, which of course brought them to now. Then Connor asked about Angel’s day.

“Very, very strange,” Angel admitted. “I’m trying to solve a mystery, actually.” So Angel told Connor the story of the foot mutilations, which Brona listened to with increased interest. “So now we have to figure out how to stop it before midnight,” Angel finished. “There aren’t enough of us to save everyone’s feet.”

Connor stared at Angel for a long moment and then burst out laughing. His guffaws were croaky and wet-sounding, and though he occasionally coughed with the effort, he laughed until tears leaked out of his eyes.

“What?” Angel asked, grinning even though he didn’t know what was funny.

“Feet!” Connor gasped. “You hear stories about saving the whole world-- Life and death! The universe will explode! And you have to save _feet!_ ”

Angel chuckled and then joined in the laughter a little bit. He supposed it _was_ sort of funny, though everything had felt so dire lately. Maybe that had to do with his mother more than the foot curse.

Angel looked at Brona, and she was staring at him with an unreadable expression again.

“What?” Angel asked her, this time.

Brona folded her arms across her chest and gave him a look that said that she’d raised a smarter son than this. “Do you not recall your fairy tales, then?”

Angel frowned in confusion. “Huh?”

She gave a light sigh and said, like he was the world’s biggest idiot, “Cinderella.”

And suddenly, Angel _felt_ like the world’s biggest idiot. Of course. The perfectly fitting shoes. The casually bloodless slicing off of toes or heels. _God_ , Angel realized, _even the name of the shop_. Enchanted Evenings.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

Connor was now coughing so hard that Angel had to go get him his bottle of water to sip. As Connor drank through the straw, Angel placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry Connor, we’re going to have to go.”

Connor nodded, still coughing lightly with his mouth around the straw and waved them off.

“Are you okay? Should I get someone?”

Connor nodded then shook his head, then waved them off again.

Angel bent and kissed Connor on the top of the head. With his free hand that wasn’t holding the water bottle, Connor patted Angel’s side. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Angel promised.

Connor stopped drinking his water and the coughing had calmed down enough for him to say, “I hope you’ll tell me how the foot story ends. I bet it’s _good._ ”

Angel smiled and affectionately ran his hand over Connor’s head, promising he would. Then he turned to Brona and nodded.

“Would you give us just a minute?” she asked, looking up from her chair.

Angel glanced from her to Connor. “Sure,” he said uncertainly. “I’ll be in the car.” Part of him wanted to hover in the hall and eavesdrop, but another part said that if it was something he wanted to hear, why would she want to say it alone? A thousand reasons, maybe, but he needed to talk to the boys anyway. And giving Brona a moment alone with her grandson was probably the least he could do for her.

He left.

* * *

Ms. Sheffield was suspiciously hard to track down. William and Calder started by going to Enchanted Evenings, but Lydia the clerk said that she’d run out on some non-specific errands some time ago and wasn’t back yet. They tried calling her, but she didn’t answer.

They were lingering outside the shop, debating if they could come up with a believable reason they’d need to search the back office when Angel called.

“Cinderella,” was the first thing he said, and William groaned. It took Calder a few seconds, but then he groaned, too.

“We’ll stop by Ferguson’s,” William said as he and Calder turned and started heading for the nearest tram stop. He asked Angel how things were going.

“Surprisingly well,” Angel replied. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Where are you?”

William could see on the screen that Angel was in his car, but couldn’t tell where the car was, so when Angel said, “In my car,” William could help the short sigh of exasperation.

“At St. Anthony’s,” Angel added. “She wanted to meet Connor.”

“Oh,” William said, surprised. He shot Calder a triumphant _I told you_ glance. “So it’s _really_ going well.”

“And it’s making me _really_ nervous,” Angel replied. He glanced out the window to his side. “What would a ghost want to say alone to her 213-year-old grandson she’d never met that she couldn’t say in front of me?”

Calder leaned over to look at the screen. “Sorry about your dad, I did my best?” he suggested.

William hit him in the arm since Angel couldn’t. “Maybe she just needed a minute, Angel,” William said. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Yeah,” Angel said hesitantly. “Maybe. Meet you back at my place?”

William agreed and they hung up.

“How weird has that got to be?” Calder asked as they reached the small shelter of the tram stop.

William tapped the call button for the tram that would take them south, down Ballybaan Road. “Weirder than we can guess,” he replied. “I mean, my mum gets all uptight about _her_ mum judging her for things she thinks she’s done wrong and whatnot, and that’s just a divorce. At worst. Angel actually _killed_ his mum. Plus, he’s a vampire and a criminal of practically every sort. She’s got a _reason_ to judge him.”

“And now she’s having a moment alone with her grandson: ‘the best thing Angel and Darla ever did,’” Calder finished. “ _Sorry about your dad, I did my best_ seems like a pretty good guess, now, doesn’t it?”

William rolled his eyes.

“Do you suppose he could make up for it?” Calder asked, a little more seriously. “I mean, if she sees he’s good now. That he’s repentant and trying to live a good life? I mean look, he’s in the middle of this investigation to help save people…” Calder hesitated and then added, “--’s feet. And he’s taking care of his son and keeping his section of town pretty well monster-murder free...”

The tram came and as they climbed on board (the little payment stand beeped in acknowledgement as they passed, the signals from their Palms deducting fare from their accounts). Calder continued, “And it’s not like he’s living the same kind of drinking, fighting, seducing-all-the-women-he-can-find kind of lifestyle, right?”

William suddenly burst out laughing. He laughed all the way to their seat and kept laughing until Calder prodded him, saying that they were getting weird looks.

“Cal!” William cried, wiping tears from one eye. “I forgot to tell you about Gemma Moon!”

And while they rode to Ferguson’s, William recounted Angel’s brief but colorful description of why he’d been covered in glitter and smelled unusually delicious the night before. Soon, Calder was crying with laughter, too, and they nearly missed their stop.

“So his mum shows up,” Calder repeated, wheezing, as they disembarked from the tram, “thinking she’s in the afterlife, and the first thing she does is follow her wayward son to a sex nest that he has to get invited to in order to stop someone from cutting off their own toes! I couldn’t have invented anything better!”

The tram pulled away and they took a second to get their bearings and head off toward Ferguson’s.

They laughed together the rest of the short way to Ferguson’s, where they finally sobered up into the serious Investigating Champions they were supposed to be and pushed their way in the door. Ferguson glanced up at them from where he was restocking feathers in a bin and gave them a nod. William counted that as a victory in his cred column: Ferguson didn’t try to sweet talk customers he knew or respected.

William and Calder turned down the aisle of books where they knew they’d find volumes on fairy tale monsters and stopped dead in surprise.

Ms. Sheffield looked up at them, a heavy red tome in her hands. She smiled. “Cinderella, right? Already there, boys.”


	11. Chapter 11

When Brona returned to the car, she slid in through the closed door with a half glance around for potential onlookers and settled herself in the passenger seat. Angel pulled away without a word.

They had turned back onto the road when Brona said, “He looks like my father.”

Angel glanced briefly at her, but kept his attention on the road.

“His brow, at least,” she continued. “And the light in his eyes.”

A smile pulled at Angel's mouth. “He's always had a bright spirit,” he agreed. “But I think he got the shape of his eyes from his mother.”

There was silence for a moment before Brona asked, “Did you love her?”

Again, Angel glanced briefly toward her. “Yeah,” he replied. It had been much more complicated than that for most of their relationship. What do you call something like ‘love’ or ‘devotion’ when neither is possible without a soul, but where a word like ‘attachment’ just doesn’t cover it? But in the end, when it mattered, for Connor’s conception and birth and all the way to now and forever beyond, “I loved her very much.”

The same smile that had pulled at Angel’s mouth tugged at Brona’s. “That makes me glad,” she said. “I had hoped someday you would find love.”

“It took me a while,” Angel admitted. “But I’ve found it more than once.”

“Have you, now?”

“Well, I’ve had a few lifetimes to look,” Angel half-shrugged. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Brona remained contemplatively quiet for a moment. They were stopped at a red light when she finally asked, “Were they each of them…?” She shook her head. “No, never mind. It’s none of my concern.”

But Angel was too intrigued by the question to let it go. “Were they each what?” he asked. “Vampires?” He shook his head. “Just Darla. Unless you want to count Drusilla, but I’m not sure it’s the same kind of love…”

“Women,” Brona finished. “I was going to say women.”

The question struck Angel as so deeply odd that he didn’t notice the light had turned green until the car behind him beeped. Starting forward, Angel swallowed and, throwing a glance at Brona (who was staring fixedly out the window), said, “Yeah. They were all women. Why…?”

Brona sucked in a deep breath and said with the utmost composure, “There have been many rumors and gossip about town. I choose to disbelieve most of them, but…”

“But you thought I might be into men?” Angel asked. It still didn’t track. Sexual orientation didn’t even exist as a concept in her time; only as a criminal act. He could believe that there had been rumors about him (not that he had ever been with a man at the time - that he soberly recalled - it was just the sort of rumor humans had always found hilarious to spread), but not that-- _Hang on a minute,_ “Who’s been spreading rumors about me? Was it Sean McKinney?”

Brona ignored the second part of his questions and answered, still staring out her window, “I don’t think I ever mentioned my brother Michael.”

Angel blinked. “I have an Uncle Mike?” he muttered mostly to himself.

“He was afflicted with...improper feelings toward the wrong people,” Brona said.

Lights clicked on in Angel’s brain. “He was gay…” he said, understanding.

“He was very much not,” Brona replied. “He took his own life around the time you were born.”

More lights clicked on. “And you thought that maybe some of that ‘evilness’ passed on to me or something when he died?”

Brona sighed deeply and relaxed her gaze out the window beside her, not quite looking at Angel but at least addressing his general direction. “I don’t know how any of this works,” she admitted, sounding tired. “Were you not possessed by a demon at your death?”

“Well, sure,” Angel nodded. “But homosexuality isn’t a demon. And even if it were, it’s not one of mine.” Not that Angel had anything against men; he just had a strong and mostly unchallenged preference for women. Which wasn’t something he cared to explain to his mother.

Brona made a noise in the back of her throat, but she seemed to relax a bit. Silence fell and Angel let the knowledge that he had an extra uncle he’d never known about sink in. At the next red light, he said, “I can relate to one thing about him, though. Michael.”

They glanced at each other at the same time and, as if getting caught doing it, quickly looked away. Angel continued, “I tried to commit suicide once, for being...irredeemably evil by nature.”

Brona stared at him, and Angel couldn’t stand the pressure of her silence. He went on, “I’d had my soul for a while, but my torment had been focused on the past. The things I’d done and the guilt of it. And then I got killed; sent to hell. By one of the women I’ve loved, actually.” The light turned green and the line of cars they were in crept forward. “And I was brought back to Earth, but then my torment was focused on the future. Could I ever live a good enough life to keep myself from going back there?”

They reached the corner that Angel’s building was on, and he turned down the quieter street toward the parking garage entrance. It was a public garage, but residents of nearby buildings could purchase permanent spots, if they chose. Angel had bought one on the same floor as his flat, on the third level up.

Taking in a breath, Angel said, “I realized the answer is, obviously, I can’t. So in my despair, I went outside to meet the sunrise. I didn’t want to go back to hell, but at the time, waiting for it seemed even worse.”

Brona’s stunned gaze hadn’t left him the entire speech. Now, finally, she spoke as Angel turned into the garage. “What stopped you?”

Angel half-smiled. “A snowstorm. In a desert where it’s too hot for snow.” The gate recognized Angel’s car and lifted. “There was some sort of higher power that didn’t want to pull me back out of hell, I guess.”

“I thought you said it was the birth of your son that made you believe in a higher power.” There was a hint of a smile in Brona’s tone.

“I guess I’ve always recognized the existence of higher powers,” Angel replied. “Just not a particular one. Or a benevolent one. Connor’s birth was foretold in a prophecy of doom, but I would like to believe that something good gave him to me to be his father.” Angel swallowed a little nervously. “But I could be wrong.”

Brona was silent the rest of the climb to the third level. As Angel pulled into his spot near the door, she said, “As I said, I don’t know how any of this works.” She paused, sounding a little frightened at the truth of the admission. “But all my life I’ve believed that souls can be saved and that there is a God who blesses those who love Him. I have to hold on to that, at least.”

Angel turned off the car, pulling the handle of the brake up. “I don’t exactly love God,” he replied. He’d tested Irony enough by falling in love with a Slayer. A God-loving vampire might just make the universe collapse.

“But you do love,” Brona said softly. “That is something. And that is the son I knew.”

Angel turned to look at her, but she was already slipping sideways out the door.

* * *

Angel could hear voices inside his flat when they reached it, and one of them was a woman’s. He frowned slightly in confusion and pushed the unlocked door open.

Ms. Sheffield was pacing in the middle of his living room, a large red book in her hands and her back to the door. “--which is just--” Ms. Sheffield cut herself off and swiveled to look at the sound of the door opening. “Well,” she said, looking like the flat was hers and she’d been waiting for them to drop by. “Some fantasy detectives you are.”

Angel’s frown deepened and he pushed the door shut once Brona was clear. They weren’t even “fantasy detectives,” but correcting that would sound like agreeing that they were bad at it.

“Hey,” Calder protested from where he sat on the couch. “It’s ‘Champion,’ thanks.”

Angel shrugged his coat off his shoulders and went to hang it by the door. He decided to ignore the ‘fantasy detectives’ remark. “How did you figure it out?” he asked Ms. Sheffield.

“I’m a bit of a sucker for the fairy tale romances,” Ms. Sheffield admitted, sounding a bit sheepish. “I prefer the modern versions, but there’s a certain fascination around the brutality of the old ones, isn’t there? And then I did a search for the old stories, and then I got distracted because my cousin’s wife is in a custody battle with her ex, and I--” She cleared her throat. “Long story short, I saw the crime scene photos on my feed.” She shivered and didn’t say more on the subject, continuing with,

“I used to work at one of those New Age stores; I swore half the people who came in were serious about wanting to do magic, but I thought it was kind of a role-playing thing, you know? I don’t miss much, but I thought, _Ana-Monique, you’re missing_ _something_. So I humored myself.” She nodded toward William and Calder. “I ran into your little apprentices at that occult shop nearby. Ferguson’s?” She sucked in a breath, wincing. “Bad business name, you ask me. Anyway, we’re all agreed, right? Cinderella?”

“Yeah,” Angel replied. He jerked his head toward Brona as he passed her on his way toward Ms. Sheffield. “She figured it out.”

“You’re his mother,” Ms. Sheffield said, stating fact. She added, “The apprentices--” (“Champions,” Calder muttered) “--told me. I’d shake your hand if I could. I’m Ana-Monique Sheffield.”

“Brona Magann,” Brona replied, inclining her head toward Ms. Sheffield.

William had been standing next to Calder on the couch, and they both made their way forward to introduce themselves, too.

“Do they call you Liam as well?” Brona asked after William introduced his full name.

“Huh?” William asked. “No, I go by Will or William, whichever. ‘As well’?”

Brona glanced at Angel, and he shifted. “My, uh--” He scratched his nose. “My human name was William,” he admitted. “But I went by Liam.”

“ _What?_ ” William and Calder cried together, astonished.

“We have the _same name?_ ” William asked, gaping at Angel.

“No,” Angel replied firmly. “Not anymore.”

“That’s _wild_ ,” Calder said, full of awe and like he hadn’t heard Angel’s response. He turned to Brona. “So what do you think of the future?”

Brona considered her answer carefully. “It seems like there’s a new surprise around every corner,” she replied. “Not all of them pleasant.” (Angel winced slightly.) “But not all of them unpleasant.”

“You could be a politician,” Ms. Sheffield said dryly.

Brona looked at her in shock. “A woman? In government?”

Calder tilted his head, regarding her. “Is this one of the pleasant surprises or unpleasant surprises? It’s kind of hard to tell on you.”

Angel stepped forward, taking Calder by the shoulder and pulling him gently away. “Alright,” he said, “everyone can drill her with questions later. So we’re dealing with Cinderella. What are we going to do about it?”

“I was trying to ask them that, too,” Ms. Sheffield said, turning back toward the couches as the boys settled in again. Brona had followed, and Angel indicated to one of the armchairs that she could take if she wanted. “They were embarrassingly short on answers.”

“Do _you_ have an answer?” Calder asked, a little grumpily as he crossed his arms and leaned back into the couch.

“I have guesses,” Ms. Sheffield replied. “But I’m the newbie, here. Do we need to find the glass slipper and break it or something?”

“Possibly,” Angel replied.

“Possibly?” Ms. Sheffield blinked at him. “They said you were an expert on the occult,” she said, nodding toward the boys.

“I am,” Angel replied. “But fairy tales just don’t show up as often as demons or ghosts or dark witches and sorcerers.”

“So you’ve never dealt with a fairy tale, either?” she asked.

Angel scratched the back of his head. “Well, I was kind of around when Hansel and Gretel came to town. And _Das Kinderstöd_ … But my girlfriend at the time handled that.”

“You didn’t help?” Ms. Sheffield asked.

Angel shrugged. “She was better at it than me. And she had friends to help and they didn’t really like...me.”

Ms. Sheffield nodded like she could see their point. Angel decided to only feel mildly insulted about that.

Brona made a noise of irritation in her throat and everyone turned to look at her. On noticing this, she straightened her shoulders. “Honestly, child,” she said, directing her comment at Angel (who felt a little more than mildly insulted). “I thought I’d taught you well about the Good Folk.”

“Good Folk?” Ms. Sheffield asked.

Angel looked at her, connections in his mind starting to light again. “Fairies,” he said.

“Fairy tales,” William said in the same tone as Angel. He looked at Brona. “Do you mean…?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Brona sighed. “If it’s a fairy tale, you’re sure to be dealing with the fae. Where do you think the tales come from, child?”

Calder breathed out a soft, “Ohhh…” that everyone else echoed in expressions and body language.

“Someone angered one of the Good Folk,” Brona went on sensibly. She looked up at Angel, standing next to her. “You _do_ remember how to appease fairy wrath, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Angel nodded quickly, crossing his arms and trying to think fast. “You, um… Well obviously-- Oh! They like music. A lot.” He scrunched up his face. “Should we sing to it?”

Both William and Calder gave him looks of horror.

“And!” Angel said, suddenly remembering, “And they like dancing.”

Calder’s horror gave way to despair. “We have to _dance_ for it?”

“And there’s something about milk…” Angel added.

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Brona muttered. “You _apologize_ , first. You must leave an offering in a place the fairy is likely to find - yes, milk, but they are also attracted to berries, wine, and precious stones or metal. Including a note never hurts. Such disasters are simple if you keep to common courtesy.”

Everyone shifted a little guiltily.

“Alright,” Ms. Sheffield said, nodding. “Where might the fairy be likely to find this...offering?”

“The place of the insult would be a good start,” Brona replied rationally.

Ms. Sheffield nodded. “And how do we know where that is?”

Brona stared at her. “Well…” she said, like she couldn’t believe so little was known about this whole thing. “I don’t-- Have you learned nothing from your investigations? The woman from last night seems a likely candidate…”

Both William and Calder snickered. Angel shot them glares. “Come on, guys,” he said sternly. “This is your investigation. Let’s hear some input.”

William schooled his snicker back first and said, “The store. Everything’s come from there. That’s probably the place the insult happened. But would a fairy really return to the site of a wrong committed against them? Wouldn’t that be kind of...undignified?”

Brona considered this. “Yes, if the place in question is a shop and not near its home… Better to take the offering to edge of Fae territory.” She glanced out the window behind the boys, concerned. “Although depending on how far east we are of town, I fear we may be sitting in it already. They cannot be well pleased with how the town has grown...”

“Maybe we can summon it,” Calder suggested. “Can’t fairies be summoned?”

“They don’t like it,” Brona warned.

“It’s not so bad if you don’t trap them,” Angel argued. “The summons doesn’t force them to appear; it’s more like an invitation to appear.” Summonings were a little more in his realm.

Brona inclined her head like he had a point. The feeling of having said something right made Angel feel surprisingly proud.

“Okay,” Angel said, smiling a little. “I’ll get the--”

William’s Palm rang, making Brona start slightly. William hopped up, fishing in his pocket for his Palm.

“Hey Mum,” he said when he answered, pressing the device to his ear and heading for the kitchen to so he wouldn’t bother everyone else with the call. “I’m not sure yet. Depends on if the fairies accept our offering…”

“Calder, Yeats,” Angel said, jerking his thumb toward the bookshelf.

Calder got up obediently and Angel went to take his place to pull fairy-inviting herbs out of the drawers of his apothecary table. He could hear William in the kitchen explaining what they’d figured out.

Hoping he sounded casual, Angel asked Calder, “Did you try to reach Cordy?”

“Will tried praying to her,” Calder replied, peering at the book titles on one of the far shelves. “But between you and me I don’t think he did it right.”

Ms. Sheffield asked with a confused glance between Calder and Angel, “Who are we praying to?”

Calder answered before Angel got a chance to: “Angel’s girlfriend.”

Angel sighed as Ms. Sheffield turned a raised eyebrow toward him. “Cordy’s not my girlfriend.”

Calder found the book and pulled it off the shelf. “So nothing happened between you the other night? Will thought something was going on. That’s why we left so suddenly.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Angel replied. He looked at the open drawers in front of him, reminding himself of what he was getting out. Instead of answering the actual question, Angel said as if it were an answer, “Girlfriends usually live in the same dimension as you.” He glanced up at Ms. Sheffield and added, “That’s why they were trying to contact her through prayer.”

“Ah,” Ms. Sheffield nodded. “I guess calling _would_ be out.”

Angel and Calder both nodded, and Angel finally started pulling candles and stones out of the drawers.

Ms. Sheffield closed her book and set it on the apothecary table. Angel could see now that it was a book of fairy tales. She asked, “So what can I do?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to know more about the insult itself,” Angel told her. “So we know what we’re apologizing for.”

Ms. Sheffield nodded thoughtfully. “I...have never had to question people on their dealings with fairies before,” she admitted. “How does one clandestinely ask if you’ve pissed off a fairy lately?”

“So it wasn’t you?” Angel replied, disappointed but not surprised that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“I try not to insult anyone, much less fairies,” Ms. Sheffield replied, shrugging. “Bad for business.”

“Fairies are good at blending in,” Angel told her. “‘You might not have known. And they’re pretty…”

“Mercurial?” Ms. Sheffield guessed.

“In a word,” Angel nodded.

Ms. Sheffield shrugged helplessly.

Angel sighed. “It’s alright, we’ll just roll with it.” He finished setting a wide candle on the table and closed the drawers. A quick glance at Calder found him scanning the fairy summoning instructions.

“Angel,” William’s voice came quietly from the doorway to the kitchen, and Angel looked up. William looked solemn and pale and he approached Angel, taking his Palm from his ear and turning on the speaker. “I think you’d better hear this.” He placed the Palm in the middle of the apothecary table. “Mum? I have you on speaker. Say that again, please.”

A nervous feeling of dread settled over the room in the silence that followed. Then Judith said, “Will? Which part? I’m confused and you’re worrying me.”

“You said Angel dropped you and _Maimeó_ off to go shopping earlier,” William prompted.

“That’s right,” Judith said uncertainly. “We were out all afternoon.”

William closed his eyes as if gathering patience and then opened them again. “You said you went _shoe_ shopping. At Enchanted Evenings.”

Calder swore softly while Ms. Sheffield drew in a sharp breath. Angel just waited until she actually said it, like waiting for the bomb after the whistling started.

“What?” Judith asked, concerned. “ _Calder_.”

“Mum. Just tell us about the shoes you bought.”

Judith hesitated, but, still sounding confused about why she needed to describe her new shoes to everyone, said, “They’re lovely, actually. Practical, yet elegant. I’ll be able to wear them to work with nearly any outfit, and they fit so well I expect I’ll be able to walk in them all day. It’s astonishing, really; I’ve never found a pair that fit so perfectly.”

This time, Angel swore, and he wasn’t alone; he, Calder, and Ms. Sheffield each said their own favorite curse for situations like this.

“Will someone _please_ tell me what’s going on?” Judith insisted, sounding thoroughly alarmed.

Calder did the honors. “You’re under the foot curse,” he said bluntly.

“The--” Judith paused to let that sink in. “Damn,” she whispered, sounding equally bewildered and frightened.

“Judith,” Angel said calmly, leaning toward the speaker, “it’s okay. We’ve figured out what it is and how to stop it. It should be over by midnight. You’ll be fine.”

Judith let out a breath that sounded relieved, but she said, “It ‘should’ be?”

“We’ll keep you posted,” Angel promised. “We’re going to summon the fairy right now.”

“Uhhhh…” Calder said slowly, and everyone looked at him. He held up the fairy summoning in the book he was holding. “No we’re not. This says that fairy summonings have to happen at midnight.”

A terrible silence fell in the room while everyone realized what that meant.

“With the ones we stopped last night,” William said slowly, “plus the ones from today…”

Angel nodded solemnly. There was no way they could be at _every_ victim’s house _and_ do the summoning to apologize to the vexed fairy in time to save everyone.

“How many were there again?” Calder asked. “Today?”

“I’ll have to call Lydia to get an updated count,” Ms. Sheffield said. “When I left, it was two. Gina Price and Basil Wood.”

Angel looked up at her. Basil Wood? How many Basils could there be in town? “Was that a man?” he asked. “Dark skin?”

“Darker than mine,” Ms. Sheffield nodded.

Of course. Well, Wood _was_ a fitting name for him...

“Do you know him?”

“We’ve met,” Angel said. “Guess word of mouth really is good for business…”

“Excellent,” Ms. Sheffield agreed.

Angel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Judith,” he said, “we’ll call you back. We’re going to figure this out. You’ll be fine,” he promised again.

“I-- Yes, alright,” Judith said reluctantly. “I think the chicken is nearly ready to come out of the oven anyway. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Soon,” Angel promised.

After another moment of silence, Judith said goodbye and the call ended.

Everyone stared at each other. Even Brona seemed filled with worry and empty of ideas.

“Well,” William said after a minute, “obviously, we’ll have to tie her up.”

Angel nodded in agreement, still thinking.

Calder snorted. “That’ll be fun to explain to your grandmother.”

“She could come here,” William suggested. “We’ll get some ropes and--”

“Ropes?” Calder interrupted. “Will. Angel’s a vampire. He’s got better bondage things than ropes.”

Angel shot him a glare. His mother was _right there_. Not that she was necessarily aware of bondage as a thing… But she could infer.

Ms. Sheffield dragged the toe of her shoe across the hardwood floor. “Oh, I don’t know…” she said lightly. “Ropes have their advantages.”

Angel, William, and Calder raised their eyebrows in her direction, but she shrugged them off. “I think it’s a good idea,” she said. “The tying up can happen before midnight, leaving us free to do the summoning. Then we apologize, offer excellent fairy gifts, the fairy lifts the Cinderella curse, and there you go.”

Calder rolled his eyes. “Oh, right, simple. We just go up to a complete stranger’s door and ask if we can tie them up and leave them there until after midnight, when we _promise_ to return and untie them. No-- _Pinky promise_.”

Ms. Sheffield narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance. “Well the ones you saved last night shouldn’t be too hard to convince, right?”

Calder shook his head. “They don’t remember the blackout. They just remember waking up with some weirdo practically attacking them.”

“Mine was cool about it,” William said. “Mostly.”

Angel stood up so he could pace. Pacing helped him think. “Call Lydia,” he told Ms. Sheffield as he came out from behind the apothecary table, and then at her look quickly added, “Please.”

She nodded and pulled out her Palm, stepping off toward the far corner.

“And think about closing early,” Angel said as she went. “To prevent any more.”

She looked torn about the idea, but nodded.

Angel started pacing.

“They’re too far away,” William said after a moment. “We can’t go to everyone’s house, convince them they should be tied up, come back together, do the summoning, and go out to untie them again. I mean technically we _could_ , but...”

“We could bring them all here,” Calder suggested. “Send out one of those things that says, ‘Congratulations! You’ve won an opportunity to break the curse you’re under! To claim your prize, simply show up at this vampire’s flat sometime before midnight tonight!’”

William tried to hold back a smile. “Actually, if I got that message, I’d definitely be a little curious.”

Calder considered that. “Yeah, me too,” he admitted. “Maybe we should actually do that…”

Both boys looked at Angel to see if he’d been listening.

Angel didn’t respond right away, and Ms. Sheffield finished her call. Shoving her Palm into her back pocket, she returned to them with an incredulous look on her face. “ _Five_ ,” she reported. “Including your mother,” she nodded to William.

Angel, Calder, and William all swore again.

“So that brings us to eight total. It’s getting worse,” William observed needlessly.

Ms. Sheffield nodded. “I told them to close,” she said. “We usually do good business on Saturday evenings, but I can’t risk it.”

“Good move,” Angel murmured. He hadn’t slowed in his pacing.

Calder set his book down on the apothecary table and crossed his arms. “Angel, do you even _have_ enough stuff here to tie up _eight_ people?”

“No,” Angel sighed. He stopped in the middle of the room, closing his eyes and wishing that a meteor would crash right into the building before he could say what he knew he had to (he added “Meteor strike on demand” to his list of possible favors to pull on the PTB). The option had been lurking at the back of his mind, dark and unacknowledged, since the idea of bondage had come up. Ms. Sheffield was right: they couldn’t overpower the victims _and_ break the curse at the same time. The victims would _have_ to be tied, or lose their feet. They deserved the option, bizarre as it was. And William was right: they couldn’t go to the houses individually and leave each person tied up for a few hours unsupervised. They would have to be brought together. Angel didn’t have enough equipment, or really, enough room to hold them all.

The meteor didn’t strike, so Angel said, “But I know who does.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Angel, babe,” Emily’s longsuffering voice said though the Palm. “I run a _very_ busy dungeon. What makes you think I have a room open with just hours’ notice?”

Angel was alone in the kitchen, protecting his dignity as long as he could. “I only need it for about an hour,” he said. “Any room will do - hell, the _hallway_ is fine so long as I can tie eight people up.”

He heard a familiar click of her tongue. “Just a--” there was a long pause and then the thudding background noise cut down. “I have...no...how many are you bringing that are open for public consumption?”

“Zero.” Angel winced.

“You’re one of those people that just makes everything difficult aren’t you?” Emily sighed. “It’s the soul, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Angel admitted. “I’ll pay extra…”

“You bet you will.” Another pause. “I’ve got it. I can’t put you downstairs. There’s a bit of a public feeder shortage. You’ll cause a riot. _But_ , I’m opening up a bit upstairs for the gentlefolk. Some of them have some _interesting_ kinks. I’d like to give the room some of the right energy before I officially open it for business. You can have that room so long as you are going to be tying people up. I wouldn’t mind some pain in there too, you know? The smell of fear to soak into the walls. Can you do that for me?”

“Oh, there’s definitely going to be some fear…” Angel replied. “I’ll see what I can do. _Thank you_ , Emily.”

He heard her click her tongue again. “Hey, anything to ease your soul-inflicted pain, Angel. You’re like a rescue dog. You know, the ones from the dog fights? You feed ‘em up and next thing you know they’re ripping people’s throats out again?”

Angel blinked and leaned back against the counter. “This isn’t actually… I’m not fee--” No one on the vampire side ever believed lines like that. Probably because, statistically, it was likely that at some point in his immortal life, he _would_ rip out a few throats again. He sighed. “Woof,” he said, and hung up.

Angel shoved the phone back in his pocket. He stared at the white cabinets across the narrow kitchen from him, delaying his return as long as possible. And he’d thought that wrestling with two naked people in front of his mother was the worst it could get. Now he was about to lead her and a bunch of other people (two of whom were teenagers, although legally of consenting age) to a renowned vampire sex dungeon.

Angel whimpered in the back of his throat and pushed off the edge of the counter, ambling as slowly as he could toward the living room.

Everyone looked up expectantly at him, Brona turning in her seat. Angel hovered in the doorway.

“I have a place,” he said, trying to sound like he thought it was a victory.

“Where?” Ms. Sheffield asked, beating both of the boys to it.

“A...club,” Angel replied. “A nightclub.”

“A nightclub,” Ms. Sheffield repeated. “A nightclub with chains?”

Angel looked up like he might receive strength from the ceiling. “Have you heard of Decade?”

Ms. Sheffield choked. Apparently, she had. Which said a _lot_ about her, actually. Humans didn’t tend to know unless they’d been food there. “I’ve _heard_ …” she said. “ _Things_.”

“What kind of things?” Calder asked, inching toward her with interest.

Ms. Sheffield chuckled. “How old are you, really, kid?”

“18,” Calder replied. When Ms. Sheffield glanced at William, he added, “And 17. Old enough. What, is it like a sex nightclub or something?”

“Well,” Ms. Sheffield replied, swinging her shoulders a bit, “I used to work as a dominatrix and I’ve heard things about that place that make _my_ skin crawl.”

The boys looked at her with a mixture of shock and awe. Angel felt rather intrigued, himself, but he tried not to let it show. Ms. Sheffield looked at him and caught his eye. “So you got us a room there?”

“Not actually in the dungeon,” Angel replied. “There’s a room upstairs that the gentlefolk sometimes use, apparently… I know the owner,” he added, hoping that would explain why he had an in and not because he’d ever been a patron there.

“Oh good,” Ms. Sheffield said lightly. “So the fairies know how to get there, then.”

“Apparently,” Angel replied. “So. I guess…” he looked at William. “ _I’ll_ tell your mother where we’re meeting.”

“Thank you,” William said in a small voice.

“And it should be easy to get Gemma Moon and Basil Wood there,” he continued.

“Basil Wood?” William asked, and Angel explained that he was Gemma’s neighbor friend. Calder snickered again.

Angel looked at Ms. Sheffield. “I’ll need Gemma’s number. Can you head up getting the others there? Calder was throwing out some weird ideas and I think he’s tapped.” He glanced quickly at Calder, who gave him a look that said, _Ha. Ha_.

Angel turned back to Ms. Sheffield. “Tell everyone to go around to the back entrance and give my name. Also tell them to bring the perfect shoes they bought; we’ll need to focus the summoning somehow. I’ll make sure we have all the other equipment for the summoning.” Then he turned, finally, to look at his mother, “And you can help gather the stuff for the offering. If...would you?”

Brona pursed her lips, but nodded. “Of course,” she agreed. “Where are your cows?”

“What?” Calder asked.

Brona turned to look at him. “For the milk. The milk should be fresh, of course.”

“Of course,” Calder nodded like he should have known. “Have fun milking cows, Angel.”

“Have fun inviting people to a vampire sex dungeon, Calder,” Angel shot back. “Make sure to tell them that being food is optional.”

Calder made a rude flicking motion under his chin.

William frowned in confusion. “Who would bring food to a-- Oh. _Being_ food is optional…”

“Get to work,” Angel told them. “We only have a few hours left.”

* * *

It took about an hour before Angel was finally ready to leave - to go find _cows_ , of all things (he’s asked repeatedly if fresh from the udder was really necessary - in these modern days milk stayed fresh quite well - and Brona had replied, “Steaming. If possible.” So Angel packed one of his thermoses he sometimes used for coffee or blood to keep the milk warm).

His duffle was filled with his own potentially useful bondage equipment (they way everything was going for him, if he didn’t bring it, he’d end up wishing he had), plus everything they would need for the summoning. He had several precious stones he didn’t mind offering, and they would pick up a bottle of wine on their way.

Ms. Sheffield and the boys were deep in discussion on invitation tactics while Angel was packing, and he half-listened to their conversation but was ready to go before they were.

“Don’t take too much longer,” he warned them. “It’s already after 8:30.” Then he asked Brona if she was ready, and she rose from the chair.

“Ireland has changed indeed,” she said, amazed, “if its people need to be convinced of fairy meddling.”

Angel opened the door. “See you at Decade,” he told them, and followed Brona out.

* * *

When Angel sat down in the driver’s seat of his car, the electric engine automatically turned on. He’d asked if there was any way to keep that from happening, since he planned on using the gas engine more, but there hadn’t been and he found now that he appreciated that the car automatically started adjusting the interior climate and gently resuming his music when he got in. He appreciated it now, too, because he could start making phone calls right away as he turned the gas engine on and began driving toward the nearest liquor store.

That is, if he could decide who to call first.

“What’s wrong?” Brona asked from her seat next to him. She was watching him curiously.

Angel let out a heavy breath. “I’m not sure who I should invite to Decade first,” he admitted. “The girl from last night...or Will’s mother?”

It was a deeply perplexing quandary.

“It isn’t like you to be be shy about propositioning a lady,” Brona murmured, half to herself.

Angel looked over at her. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Thanks. _A Mhuirnín_ , call Gemma Moon.” He pushed in the clutch and turned on the gas engine.

“I found a Gemma Moon contact card sent from Ana-Monique Sheffield in your messages,” _A Mhuirnín_ replied. “Is that who you’d like to call?”

“Yes. Video call.” It seemed better to let her see his face - she’d recognize him faster and, frankly, it was easier to come off as charming and trustworthy when they were put in front of a face like his.

They’d reached the next level down when Gemma Moon answered. She appeared to be getting dressed, for the way she was straightening out her loose-fitting t-shirt over her torso and how her pulled-back hair was mussed like the shirt had been hurriedly jammed over it. There was an unmade bed behind her and the room seemed just as strewn with various clothes as her flat had been. The screen was in the center of the dash, so Angel had to glance left to see her, but the camera trained on him was just behind the steering wheel, peering between his hands (assuming his hands were ever in the proper 10-and-2 position).

“Gemma,” Angel said, trying to sound like everything was normal and he hadn’t tried to wrestle a knife out of her hand the night before. “It’s Angel. From last night?”

“Oh!” she said, her eyes lighting in recognition as she pulled her hair tie out to redo it. “Right… You kind of took off…”

_O_ tended to blur memories; a side effect of enhancing sensations (a not-unwelcome side effect, according to some). Angel was counting on this.

“I got a phone call, remember?” he replied. “A friend needed me. I was calling to apologize, and see if you and Bays wanted to do something tonight.” The gate to the parking garage opened at their approach, and Angel coasted through, pausing to check for traffic.

Gemma made an interested noise. “Like what?”

“I’m getting a group of people together at Decade,” Angel replied as they emerged onto the street.

“Decade?” Gemma replied, a little confused. She finished redoing her ponytail and started searching through what sounded like make-up containers on what Angel was going to assume was her dresser. “That’s just down the street from me. It’s a nightclub. And not really one of the cool ones.” She sucked in a breath like adding _I hate to break it to you…_

“The nightclub is a front,” Angel told her. “There’s an extremely exclusive back, and I happen to know the owner.”

Gemma dropped whatever bag she was holding and looked at the screen, suddenly much more interested.

Angel flashed her a quick, coy grin.

“I see,” Gemma said, quickly regaining her composure. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Well for starters, I thought I’d let the suspense wind you up,” Angel replied, the corner of his mouth turning upward. “And then I thought I’d tell you to go around to the back entrance and drop my name to the bouncer. He’ll tell you which room is ours.”

Gemma shifted, leaning in toward the screen like she could get closer to him and suss him out. “And if I find myself irresistibly intrigued,” she said slowly, “what sort of outfit should I wear? I’ve got a very...flexible wardrobe.”

“Flexibility is good,” Angel replied, shooting her a little grin. “Just wear something you feel comfortable in. Nothing too fancy, except those shoes you just got. You should definitely wear those. And bring Bays.” There was no way Angel could bring up Bays’ new perfectly-fitting shoes without adding to his creep factor, but one less pair shouldn’t matter too much if everyone else brought theirs.

In his peripheral vision, Angel could see her shift again, pulling away from the screen. “I’ll see if he’s interested,” she said lightly.

“Of course he is,” Angel replied, making a right-hand turn onto a smaller street. “I’ll see you two sometime between 11 and 11:30.” Then he winked, leaned over, and tapped the End Call button.

He let out a breath of relief at having that over with. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done that,” he admitted. He glanced at Brona, suddenly worried. “Do you think I should have gotten a straight-up yes out of her? What if she decides not to show?”

Brona rolled her eyes toward him.

“Right,” Angel agreed, looking at the road again, although he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing with. The liquor store he usually went to was just up ahead, so he slowed down, looking for street parking. After a moment, he broke down. “Okay, what was that look for?”

“You did just fine,” Brona replied evenly. “You were intriguing and charming and she’ll certainly be arriving expecting something you don’t intend to give her.”

Angel shifted uncomfortably in his seat and put on his turn signal to pull over in front of the store - no one else was parked nearby. “I’m giving her something better,” he murmured. “Even if she doesn’t know it.”

“Undoubtedly,” Brona agreed. “It still amazes me that the Irish have lost all sensibilities when it comes to the gentlefolk, and that one must resort to lies and trickery like the fae themselves in order to help those under their influence.”

Once parked, Angel turned off the gas engine. “Much has been gained with the advances of science and technology,” he said. “I mean, look at this car. But yeah, I guess a certain amount of sensibilities had to be sacrificed for it. Maybe someday they’ll regain it. The pendulum always has to swing.”

“Indeed,” Brona said softly.

Silence fell between them for a moment. Then Angel decided it was past time to call Judith, who was waiting for their plan. Angel realized it had been quite unkind of him to make her wait as long as he had. “ _A Mhuirnín_ , call Judith Cole,” he said. “Video.”

Judith usually answered her phone quickly, but tonight it took a little longer, and when it did it came through audio only. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said in a gentle, affectionate tone. “How’s it going?”

“Uh--” Angel stammered. “It’s Angel.”

“I saved some dinner for you,” she went on, “do you know when you’ll be home?”

“Oh,” Angel said, realizing what was going on. “Got it.”

A moment later he heard the sound of a door closing and then the screen flickered on. Judith was in her bedroom and she apologized quickly, trying to keep her voice low. “She’s driving me insane, and she won’t ask as many questions if she thinks Will’s calling. So? What’s the plan?” She crossed one arm anxiously over her stomach while the other held the Palm in front of her.

Angel swallowed. “We’re going to have to tie you up,” he said, wincing slightly. “On account of not being able to summon the fairy before midnight.”

“Yes, I thought you might,” Judith agreed, expression falling. “Although I had hoped you’d think of something else.”

“It won’t be for long,” Angel promised.

Judith nodded, understanding. “Alright. I’ll come to your flat then? You’ll have ropes, or...similar?”

Angel let out a short sigh. “Everyone just _assumes_ I have this stash of bondage equipment laying around. Just because I’m a vampire--”

“--Actually,” Judith interrupted, “I assumed that you were out getting such...equipment. You’re in your car.”

Angel swallowed. “Oh.”

“Was I wrong?”

Angel cleared his throat and looked down at his hands in his lap. “Yes,” he said meekly.

When he didn’t continue, she said, “Oh?”

“I’m actually out getting wine and milk. For the fairy offering,” Angel replied, still not looking up.

Again, when he didn’t continue, she prompted, “And the equipment to restrain me?”

Angel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, I _am_ a vampire!”

“Angel,” Judith sighed, “I’m not judging you. I just want to understand what’s happening tonight.”

Angel glanced up at the screen guiltily. “Actually, I need you to meet us somewhere else. There are seven other people who are cursed--”

“Seven!” Judith exclaimed.

“Yeah. And I definitely _don’t_ have enough restraints for eight people,” Angel said. “There’s a place in Uptown. It’s called Decade. I reserved a room for us to use and they should have all the...equipment we’ll need.”

Judith frowned slightly in confusion. “What kind of place is this?”

Angel shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh,” Judith said a moment later. “Oh, I see.”

“It’s just that I know the owner,” Angel said quickly.

“You--” Judith tilted her head slightly, and Angel realized the trap he’d put himself in. There were only two likely reasons that Angel knew the owner of this establishment: that the owner was not human, or that Angel was (or had been) a regular customer. Or both, since both were true.

“Angel,” Judith said slowly. “Just so I know… Am I going to have to sneak out while my mother is asleep to go to a normal BDSM dungeon or a _demon_ BDSM dungeon?”

Angel’s gaze fell to his lap again. _God_ but this was awkward. “The second one,” he said quietly. “Although it’s more of a vampire establishment. Not that Emily discriminates…”

“I see,” Judith said again, letting that sink in. “Well, it’s been quite some time since I’ve snuck out of the house. I may be rusty.”

“Maybe slip her a sleeping pill,” Angel advised.

Judith let out a breath of laughter, but it quickly faded. “Angel? How safe is this going to be? The idea of being tied up in a dungeon full of vampires makes me think we’re going to be rather tempting...food.”

She wasn’t wrong. Angel replied, “We’ll actually be upstairs, away from most of the...action. Emily keeps a pretty strict policy on who’s food and who isn’t, and we’ll be close by the whole time.”

“We?” Judith repeated. “Oh goodness… William.” She paled a bit, but said, “Well, I suppose he _is_ of age…”

“Like I said, we’ll be out of the way of the other...patrons,” Angel told her. “It’s actually the fairy part of the dungeon, not the vampire part.”

Judith raised an eyebrow at the mention of fairies.

“Try to be there by 11:30 if you can,” Angel continued. “Go around back and tell the bouncer you’re in my party. He’ll show you where to go. Oh, and bring your new shoes. We need them for the summoning.”

Judith shook her head incredulously, but asked, “What was the name of the establishment again?”

“Decade,” he told her.

“And…” she paused uncertainly. “What do I wear? Aside from my new cursed shoes?”

The corner of Angel’s mouth twitched. “Something comfortable,” he replied. “Probably best not to make a deep impression on anyone there.”

“Or the other way around,” Judith replied, and Angel actually laughed at the joke. He hadn’t expected that at all from her.

“Thank you, Angel,” she said. “I’ll see you by 11:30.”

Angel nodded and they hung up.

Angel breathed another sigh of relief. That was over with, and it hadn’t been as terrible as it might have been. He glanced at Brona. “I’ll be back soon with the wine,” he told her, and slipped out of the car.

He chose one of the sweeter red wines on the mid-high end of the price scale. He didn’t want to have to try this more than once, so he figured the more expensive the better, but he was already pushing his bank account limits with the room rental at Decade. Connor’s rent and _A Mhuirnín’s_ insurance and gas ensured it stayed nice and lean, so it was good that Angel didn’t have many other living expenses. He should probably see if Ms. Sheffield would help with any of these costs… It was _her_ business that caused the problem, after all.

When Angel returned to the car, he put the bag with the bottle of wine straight into his duffle in the trunk, making sure it was secure and wouldn’t rattle too hard against the handcuffs and various metal buckles. Then he returned to the driver’s seat, buckled in, and realized he had no idea where to go to find dairy cows.

“Well?” Brona asked.

“I’m thinking,” Angel replied. “I don’t know where to find a cow to milk.”

“You--” Brona blinked at him, astonished. “You _don’t know_ which cow gave your milk?”

Angel held up his hands. “I’m a vampire. I don’t drink milk.” Never mind that he _did_ have milk in the fridge, for when his human guests wanted milk in their tea or coffee.

“Well… Go to the nearest farm,” Brona suggested reasonably.

“Right, the nearest farm. In a city,” Angel replied in a dry tone.

“Can’t your…” Brona waved at the car in general, “tell us? It does everything else.”

Angel chuckled. “Right, what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, _A Mhuirnín_ , take me to the nearest cow’?”

“Locating,” the car said. “Okay, how about Kelly Dairy Farms near Belclare? It’s about 30 minutes away.”

Angel blinked at the screen. “Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

“Great,” the car replied. “Go straight.”

A bit dazed that it was that simple, Angel turned on the gas engine, checked for traffic, and pulled out into the street. “I guess she _can_ do everything,” he murmured, impressed.

“You speak as if it’s alive,” Brona said, partly amazed and - Angel couldn’t help but read into it - partly condescending. “You call it _A Mhuirnín_.” She gave him a sideways glance that said that he was insane to call anything not human (or human-like) the equivalent of _My Darling_.

“Well,” Angel shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. She’s kind of like a friend.”

“I don’t call my friends _A Mhuirnín_ …” Brona replied.

“I like my car, okay?” Angel said defensively. “It’s kind of like having a horse, only faster and she can take me to the nearest cow, if I ask.”

Brona lifted her hand in surrender.

_A Mhuirnín_ instructed him to make the next left, and he did.

The highway entrance wasn’t very far away, and they had been speeding along the dark road for several minutes before either of them spoke again. “The person the young men were attempting to pray to…”

Angel’s heart sank. He didn’t want to talk about Cordy. Especially not to his mother.

“...who is she?”

“A friend,” Angel replied. “I knew her a long time ago.”

Brona was silent a moment. “A lady friend?”

Holding back a sigh, Angel said, “It’s complicated.”

Brona was silent for so long this time, Angel started to hope that she had taken the hint and dropped it, but she finally said, “Your carriage has informed us that we have ample time.”

Angel glanced over at her. “It’s kind of personal,” he said. Then, realizing their conversations so far hadn’t exactly been light and superficial, added, “If I told you, you’d probably wish I hadn’t.”

“You confessed the love of your illegitimate son’s demon mother easily enough,” she pointed out. “How much worse is this situation?”

Angel nearly chuckled in spite of himself. “No. It’s-- No. Definitely not worse.” He hesitated, and then decided that telling her about how he’d come to know Cordelia wouldn’t be so bad. He found that that necessarily included her current position with the Powers That Be, and when he finished with that, it felt only natural to add the part about how the Powers were the same ones who’s taken Connor’s destiny.

“Ah,” Brona said, understanding. “I see the conflict.”

“It’s not just that,” Angel said, even though it was mostly _that_. “She lives so far away I don’t even know how to reach her and neither of us can move any closer. Nothing can happen with us. We have no future.”

“And yet something has happened.”

Something, for sure. Angel sucked in a breath and said, “It’ll just take some time to settle into.”

Brona didn’t respond immediately, and silence fell except for the purring of the engine and the dull whoosh of air outside as they sped along the dark highway. Without other distractions for the moment, thoughts about Cordelia and their history began to surface, having been shoved aside for more important things since she’d shown up only two nights ago.

Although Angel had always appreciated Cordy’s intelligence and her ability to weasle her way into anything she wanted, hiding behind the Pretty Dumb Girl glamor even better than the girls who...well, didn’t need the glamor to play the dumb part. But after she became his Seer was when Cordy had started to draw at Angel’s attention. She’d changed, of course, grown into her compassion and the power that compassion offered her...

But it was also that she was a Seer. Angel had a history with Seers. Drusilla had been the masterpiece on his arm, whom he could wear to show the world just how good he was at being evil. Cordy had opened the door for him to show the world just how good he could be at being good. He’d stepped through that door briefly, sacrificed everything - including his humanity - to save the world, and then slipped right back through and shut the door behind him.

With Cordy’s return and William and Calder’s well-lit path to Champion-hood, Angel realized he’d started eyeing the doorknob again without permission from the rest of his mind; especially the sections relating to convictions and loyalty.

“It’s probably a good thing,” Angel found himself saying in the silence. “If Cordy were around more, it’d only be harder to keep to my principles.”

“Which principles?” Brona asked.

“The ones where the people I love don’t get to be the price for my good deeds,” Angel replied, swallowing. “And where Connor’s enemies are my enemies. As it is, I’m toeing the line with helping the Powers by training Will and Calder. But I started doing that long before I knew their destiny, so I get to keep that choice as my own.”

Brona looked up at him intently. “Are your choices not your own?”

“Well…” Angel dipped his head in concession. “That’s a question philosophers will probably never be able to answer. But when your choices are manipulated it sure doesn’t feel like your own.”

“Hmm,” Brona said, turning back to the front. “If you knew your choices could not be manipulated, what would you choose then, I wonder?”

Angel wondered that, too. He knew his desires, but even desires conflict and make choices difficult. “It’s not just my choices for the future,” Angel said. “I can’t ignore what happened in the past.”

“I thought you said you’d turned the tide on that?” Brona replied. “Your torture turned from your past to your future.”

“Yeah, and that’s what drove me to go meet the sunrise,” Angel reminded her. “After that, I guess I put some blinders on. Not full blinders, but enough to keep me in the moment, with small doses of past and future as appropriate.” Angel drew out a long, tired shrug. “I don’t know,” he sighed.

“What exactly is your choice?” Brona asked. “Forgive me if you mentioned it; there has been a lot of information to process.”

Angel shook his head. “I don’t even know what the choice is. It just seems like one is going to have to be made soon, and I’d like some time to think about it before I do. I guess I just...would like a say in whatever’s going to happen, rather than just waiting for it and then having to react to it.”

Brona nodded, understanding. “As would I.”

Angel raised an eyebrow at her briefly before turning back to the road. “What would you like a say in, then?” Her death, again?

“I don’t know,” Brona replied with a breath of humorless laughter. “As you say, reacting is tiresome. It would be nice to act, for once. But I suppose I’ll be moving on soon, from any action at all. If my beliefs are true.”

It hit Angel what a horrifying time his mother must be going through. Caught in a purgatory between deaths with nothing she could do but contemplate the truth (or lies) of her lifelong faith. Angel’s heart twinged for her.

“The first woman I ever loved - Darla not withst-- Well, it’s complicated. But the other one, who both killed me and saved me--” Although Darla had done that for him also, hadn’t she? Killed him and saved him? Angel sensed a pattern and decided he could wonder later how long it would take for Cordelia to kill him, since she’d saved him, too.

“Anyway,” Angel went on, “she died and was brought back to life. Properly. She went to heaven.”

Brona looked at him, listening intently.

“Her mom was there,” Angel went on. “Other people she loved... She said she was happy; warm; safe.” He glanced briefly at Brona. “I tend to see the ugly cross section of death, on account of what I am. But the other side exists, too. And from what I know of hell and evil, I know that’s not where you’re destined.”

Brona sucked in a breath which shuddered a little, looked forward out the window again, and didn’t speak until they reached the farm, where she finally said a soft “Thank you” as they pulled up alongside the pasture fence.

* * *

William, Calder, and Ms. Sheffield decided to take the flexible, individualized approach. It was like developing a marketing model for target demographics where the demographics were very specific strangers and the product was a night spent in chains.

William took Penelope Gardner. She’d been his charge last night, and their rapport was somewhere around neutral to slightly positive. At least, after remaining skeptical about the curse, she’d been willing to admit that weird, unexplainable things happen, and that William was probably not a murderer or a rapist, but she’d still seemed relieved to see him go. Understandably.

William went to her house; they all figured that in-person seemed better than calling people. It was harder to hide and easier to trust. Ms. Sheffield was going to take Calder’s charge from last night - Naomi Willis - since Calder’s rapport with her was solidly negative (little old ladies didn’t take nearly as kindly to intruders). And Calder was going with Ms. Sheffield to start on the new people after Mrs. Willis, but firmly instructed to stay out of the way until she signaled him.

Calder had vehemently protested, but William thought she made a good point when she said that women were simply easier to trust about these sorts of things.

“It’s not that you don’t have good intentions, kid,” Ms. Sheffield had told him bluntly, “it’s that you kind of come off as...for yourself. Not that your confidence isn’t working for you, but I’ve been in sales for years. You’re not going to sell the average woman on foot curses and handcuffs. But if we come across another Gemma Moon, I promise, she’s all you.”

Calder had reluctantly agreed and they all left Angel’s flat not long after he and Brona had.

It was nearing nine o’clock when William arrived at Penelope Gardner’s door. She opened it a little warily in her sweats, peering at him through her glasses, her dark hair pulled back. She was somewhere in her mid-20’s, William guessed, and she froze when she saw him standing on her stoop.

William winced. “I know,” he said apologetically. “Believe me, I was hoping I didn’t have to come back here, too. But I need to talk to you about something.”

She hesitated. “I have a friend here,” she said. “We’re studying for midterms.”

Studying? “Are you in college?” he asked. A college student living alone in a townhouse seemed...weird.

“Grad school,” she replied.

“Oh,” William nodded. That made more sense. “Well… I hate to interrupt, but…” He swallowed. “Okay, you know how I explained last night that you were cursed?” On his way over, he’d convinced himself that the most direct approach was best. It would all have to come out one way or another, which made dancing around the bush pointless, or he wasn’t Judith Cole’s son.

Penelope glanced quickly back inside toward wherever her friend was and then slipped out onto the stoop, not quite closing the door behind her. “Yeah, about that…” she said, crossing her arms and looking like she was preparing to tell him off.

“It’s still active,” William said quickly. “It’s going to happen again tonight at midnight. But this time we know how to fix it.”

Penelope stared at him, mouth hanging a bit open. Finally, she asked, “Say that’s true… Why would anyone curse me? I’m kind of low-key.”

“Oh, you didn’t do anything wrong,” William assured her. “Someone just pissed off a fairy. You got caught in the wake.”

Penelope nodded slowly, her expression neutral. “And what does that make you, Harry Potter or something?”

“Oh no,” William said, “no, I usually use swords, not wands. More demons, less magic.” William bit his lower lip, thinking. “Although I guess tonight it’s more magic… Look, the thing is, the fairy that did this can only be summoned at midnight, and that’s, obviously, when your curse kicks in, so I’m here to see if I can convince you to let me tie you up while I summon the fairy so you don’t chop up your feet.” He grimaced. “You’re not the only one, if it helps. My mum will even be there!”

Penelope shook her head like she had to clear her ears. “Your mum?” she repeated.

“She found a perfect fit this afternoon,” William explained. “From Enchanted Evenings? That’s what curses you. Finding a perfect fit. It’s kind of like Cinderella.”

Penelope let that sink in another moment. Then she leaned forward, a glint sparking in her eye. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Curses. Fairies. Cinderella.”

“Completely serious,” William replied. “I have a scar on my leg from where a shadow monster’s talon cut a gash and my Dumbledore is a vampire.”

The spark in her eye lingered and caught and suddenly, Penelope was grinning. “I _knew_ it!” she said. “I knew I wasn’t just a weirdly obsessed nerd, I knew _something_ had to be real! Which author got it the most right?”

“Kind of a combination,” William replied, trying to hide his surprise. “But Angel says no one really got the vampires right, and thank god Anne Rice wasn’t right about the whole drinking from the dead thing, even though it made a lot of sense.”

Penelope giggled, but in her effort to keep her voice quiet it came out as a squeak. “I _knew_ it,” she repeated. “Okay, cool, so I’m really cursed. What do you need me to do?”

“Meet me at a vampire nightclub sometime before midnight,” William replied.

Penelope made another excited squeak in the back of her throat. “Vampire nightclub,” she repeated, trying hard not to grin so broadly. “It's not run by Lara Wraith, is it?”

That reference was beyond William, so he lifted his shoulders and said, “Emily Slipp. But she does run a sex dungeon underneath the nightclub.”

“Butcher's muse…” Penelope muttered reverently.

“It's called Decade,” William went on (“of course it is,” Penelope grinned), “and tell the bouncer at the back entrance that you're with Angel. And bring those shoes you bought.”

“Angel,” Penelope repeated. “That's your vampire Dumbledore?”

“Right.”

“Does he have a dark past and a tortured soul?”

William raised an eyebrow. “You've read that one, huh?”

“And saw it on TV,” Penelope shrugged. “I'll be there.”

“Cool,” William nodded. He breathed a sigh of relief. “That wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be.”

“Who gets to tell your mum about the vampire sex dungeon?”

“The vampire,” William replied, shivering slightly.

“Nice,” she nodded. “Well, I've got to get back to studying. With my friend. The _normal_.” She leaned forward. “Do we call them normals?”

William shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Penelope hissed under her breath.

William wished her luck and then remembered at the last second to give her his number in case she needed to reach him. “Before midnight,” he reminded her.

“Of course. I'll leave my stakes here, though.”

William hesitated, unsure if it was a joke. Then she grinned, winked, and went back inside.

Starting to feel high on success, William turned and headed back out toward the street, pulling out his Palm to call Calder and see how they were getting on.


	13. Chapter 13

“Nobody ask me about milking the cow,” Angel growled as he and Brona strode into the upstairs fairy lounge.

“Cow?” A young woman with glasses and pulled-back brown hair asked.

“I _said_ don't ask,” Angel repeated, and she pressed her lips tightly together, glancing significantly down at a perplexed-looking old woman she stood next to, who was perched on a comfortable looking moss-covered log.

Angel stopped and took stock of the room he’d just walked into. He had to blink a few times to make sure he hadn’t stepped into a forest instead of the fourth level of a building in the middle of a city. There were trees everywhere - _real_ trees, from what he could tell. The room hummed with magic, so he could guess how the real indoor forest was possible. The trees were smooth-barked and silvery, ranging in thickness from about Angel’s thigh to a trunk that three Angels could have comfortably done tai chi in. This tree was in the center of the room, its height lost behind the leafy branches of the younger trees. The floor was soft, short grass.

Among the trees were small wooden tables and various soft seating arrangements that looked like everything from moss-covered rocks to large mushrooms. At the far end of the room was a clearing for a dance floor and stage, and on the left hand side a bar built around a waterfall stream. 

On the right was the actual sex dungeon room; its door an unlocked metal gate set into a large tree trunk. Or so he’d been told. Emily had informed Angel that in order to find the door, he had to look for it, which Angel hadn’t quite understood but relayed to the others as if he did and like they were the weird ones for not getting the cryptic message. 

Now it was more obvious. Whether for privacy, for mystery, or for volume concerns, the entrance _to_ the entrance was a waterfall, over which Angel’s eyes slid several times trying to see the door before he registered that it was even there. Approaching it, it took him several more glances to realize that the water wasn’t real, despite the thundering crash it made and the fact that it _looked_ completely authentic. The giveaway was that the water went straight through the solid floor. For a second, Angel wondered if this was the same ice-cold waterfall that ran through the dungeon downstairs, but then he also noticed that everything around this falls was completely dry. Reaching out and thrusting his hand in, it went through warm, still air instead of a cold, wet deluge.

Now that he had looked, Angel’s eyes accepted the existence of this waterfall, and he no longer had to concentrate on looking for it to find it, even after he turned away to look back at Brona and the two women over by the log, who were taking in the room with baffled wonder and whispering. Brona had followed Angel over to the waterfall.

“How astounding,” she murmured. “I should think it all real…”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” Angel agreed, sticking his hand in the water again and turning it over. His hand almost felt light, since his brain was telling him it should feel heavy under the weight of the water.

Brona looked at him curiously, and then at his hand. “What are you doing?”

Angel withdrew his hand again. “Not getting wet,” he said, offering her a small smile of amazement. Wasn’t that what they were talking about? “Fake waterfall…?”

“I beg your pardon?” Brona asked, confusion deepening the creases on her brow. “Waterfall?”

“Ohhh,” Angel breathed. “You can’t see the fairy glamour…”

“I beg your pardon?” Brona repeated.

“I see a waterfall here,” Angel said, pointing to the falls his brain was telling him was obviously there. “I hear it, too.”

“I was wondering why you’d raised your voice,” Brona said pointedly, but she turned to look at the space where she, apparently, didn’t see the waterfall.

“Sorry,” Angel said, trying to lower his voice even though the crash in his ears told him to raise it. “The rest of it is real, though. Real trees. Real grass.”

“Why do I not see the waterfall?”

Angel half-shrugged. “Probably something to do with not fully existing in either the physical plane or the spiritual plane,” he replied. “The glamour is the same way. As an illusion, it’s out of sync. Maybe you cancel each other out or something.”

Brona had a look that was becoming familiar to Angel, meaning that she didn’t quite understand and wasn’t sure if it was worth it to pursue.

“It’s a ghost like you,” Angel tried. “Sometimes ghosts just can’t see each other.”

That seemed to help, and Brona nodded. Angel turned back to the thundering waterfall, braced himself, and walked through the arch of stone that the glamour water tumbled over. On the other side he found the metal gate in the tree, and William and Calder peering cautiously through it. Ms. Sheffield’s voice came from the other side, unusually clear and loud. Angel glanced behind him. The water still appeared to fall in a curtain as Brona shimmered through it, but on this side it made no noise (nor - Angel noted - did anything on the other side make a noise. He could no longer here the soft murmuring of the ladies waiting in the forest, nor the gentle thudding of their hearts). Angel turned back and went up to the doorway.

“...expect that of fairies,” Ms. Sheffield was saying as Angel stopped behind William and Calder, peering over their heads.

“It’s not all pixie dust and granting wishes,” Angel agreed, making the boys jump in surprise.

“Oh, that’s not what I meant,” Ms. Sheffield said. “I meant the iron.”

Angel glanced around the spacious room from his limited vantage point. It extended far down the length of the forest room, although Angel couldn’t see how far. The walls were made of clear ice (Angel reached out to touch the inside of the doorway - yes, it was definitely frozen) against an arctic blue backdrop. Nudging the boys’ shoulders aside so he could pass, Angel stepped into the room, adjusting his bag of equipment on his back.

Looking down the length of the dungeon, he could now see that half walls of ice delineated three different “rooms,” each apparently with its own specialty. Lining most of the empty walls were shelves of equipment, extra chairs and cages, bottles of brightly colored potions, and so on. Several trunks of varying sizes stood against the walls here and there, too.

The floor was a smooth black slate, and, in the first half-room where Ms. Sheffield was gazing, hung an assortment of iron equipment. Rings drilled into the ice with dangling chains, harnesses hanging from the ceiling, whips with iron tips hanging from hooks, cages...basically your standard assortment. In the next half-room over was similar equipment in leather, and in the third room in the far corner there was ominously nothing.

“I don’t know…” Angel said quietly, considering the iron, which burned fairies the same way holy water burned vampires. “You’ve got the hot and cold thing going on…”

“Fair,” Ms. Sheffield nodded reasonably. “I guess I’ve seen weirder. Did you get the offering?”

Angel patted his duffle. “We can set up in that far stall,” he said. He glanced back at the boys, who were still hovering in the doorway. “Nothing’s going to bite you,” he pointed out. “Probably. I thought I heard a rattle in one of those trunks,” he pointed to the boys’ right, “so maybe steer clear of that end.”

Pulling their dignity back together, William and Calder quickly shoved past each other into the room, trying to look like they thought everything was completely normal - boring, even. Angel caught Brona’s eye as she filled the boys’ spot in the doorway and asked her to bring in the two women still in the forest room so they could start the restraining process, and then led the boys back to the third stall at the end of the room.

It wasn’t as empty as Angel had thought: in the middle of the slate floor was a single wooden chair. Angel set his duffle on this.

“I don’t get it,” Calder said. “Just a chair?”

Angel shrugged, unzipping the duffle. “To each their own…”

“Cal, look!” William suddenly cried, and Angel looked back at him, and then up where they were staring, open-mouthed. 

Above them was a long ice shelf that ran the width of the room and looked like a perfect miniature version of the room they were standing in, with tiny chains and whips, tiny shelves with tiny bottles of potion…

“For the little folk,” Angel said.

Calder sniggered. “So size really _doesn’t_ matter.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “Get over here. Focus.” He pulled out the book with the fairy summoning instructions and held it out to them; William took it and began flipping through it. Angel continued unpacking everything else they’d need for the summoning and the offering, leaving the rest of the bondage equipment in there and zipping it safely away. It looked like there would be plenty of restraints available here. He dropped the duffle in the far corner of the stall and turned to the boys, who had moved the chair aside and were well into setting up.

“Do you need anything from me?”

“Nope,” William said from the floor, where he was drawing symbols with chalk. “I think we’re good.”

“Let me know if we’re missing anything. Emily’ll charge us a fortune for it, but she probably has it.”

“Got it,” William said while Calder gave him a thumbs up.

“Oh,” Angel added, remembering that he hadn’t asked. “How’d you do on the dungeon invitations?” He lowered his voice and added, “I can’t _believe_ you got the old lady here.”

“That was Ms. Sheffield,” Calder whispered back, sounding impressed. “She went into the building and came out half an hour later with Mrs. Willis cooing over how sweet a young lady she is. I think she did magic on her.”

“She didn’t do it on anyone else, though,” William said. “We did our best, Angel, but I’d say the others are 50/50.”

Angel nodded in acknowledgement. “I guess we’ll see how it plays out.” He left them to it.

Ms. Sheffield had put herself in charge of the restraints, which Angel was only too happy to let her have. He directed the girl with the glasses away from the rattling trunk (“Is there a boggart in there?” she asked eagerly. Angel replied, “Really really doubt it. They make bad pets”) and introduced her to Ms. Sheffield, who was trying to figure out how to make the old lady comfortable.

“Are there blankets, Angel?” Ms. Sheffield asked, feeling the lady’s arm, which was already covered with a sweater.

Angel knew he’d just told the boys that Emily probably had anything they needed, but he doubted blankets were one of them. “She can have my coat…” he offered, shrugging it off his shoulders.

“Oh no, dear,” the old lady protested. “You need that.”

“I really don’t, Mrs. Willis,” Angel told her, swinging his coat behind her shoulders. “I don’t get cold easily.”

The girl with the glasses sniggered and Angel looked at her curiously. 

“Penelope Gardner,” she held out a hand. “William told me everything. This is _so cool_.”

Angel took her hand, nodding with some bemusement. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Ms. Sheffield will see that you’re as comfortable as possible.”

He turned to go see if anyone else was arriving, but Ms. Sheffield said, “Angel.”

He turned to look back at her. 

“You can call me Ana-Monique.”

Slowly, Angel grinned. “I’m not sure I’ve earned that yet,” he said.

“If you hadn’t I wouldn’t have said anything,” Ms. Shef-- Ana-Monique replied. Then she briskly went back to making sure his coat was comfortable around Mrs. Willis’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Penelope Gardner said, drawing Angel’s attention. She was bent over the messanger bag at her hip and pulling out a pair of running shoes. She handed them out to Angel. “I was told to bring the cursed shoes,” she said, looking delighted about it.

“Cursed?” Old Mrs. Willis asked from her chair.

Under her breath, Penelope murmured, “Oops…”

While Ana-Monique reassured Mrs. Willis, Angel took the running shoes. “Thanks,” he said.

Angel took the running shoes to the boys, then headed back out toward the forest room. He passed Brona on the way, who was eyeing everything warily.

When Angel emerged from the waterfall (the noise immediately crashed behind him again), he noticed a dark-haired, olive-skinned man lingering near the doorway between the foyer and the forest room, and Angel went over to introduce himself. 

“Hi,” he said, holding out a hand. “You here for the foot curse removal?”

“Uhh--” the man said, jaw dropping in confusion. “A kid told me I’d won something?”

Calder. Angel resisted the urge to heave a sigh. “Right,” he said. “I’m Angel.”

The man finally took Angel’s outstretched hand tentatively. “Santiago. Hart.”

“Nice to meet you,” Angel told him. “Just go through that waterfall. Ms. Sheffield will take care of you.”

“Uhh--” Mr. Hart said again. “Look, mate, I’m getting the sense that this is a huge scam…”

Angel resisted the urge to say _Are you, now?_

“I think I’m just going to go home.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” Angel said, trying to sound pleasant about it and not at all creepy. “See, there’s… Well-- Oh, okay, you bought a pair of shoes at _Enchanted Evenings_ today, right? It turns out they’re...poisoned. Did you happen to bring them?”

“ _Poisoned?_ ”

Angel nodded solemnly. “But don’t worry, there’s an easy cure. Right through there.” He pointed to the waterfall again, which he had to admit was almost as big of an obstacle to convince people to go through as being tied up by strangers in a sex dungeon. If one wasn’t accustomed to that sort of thing.

Mr. Hart gave the doorway a deeply skeptical glance. “Right… I think I’ll take my chances. Thanks anyway.”

“Hang on--” Angel protested as Mr. Hart began to turn away. At that moment, the lift doors in the foyer behind Mr. Hart opened and Judith Cole appeared. “Judith!” Angel said gratefully. Jogging forward to catch up with the man, Angel reached out and pulled Mr. Hart to a stop by his elbow. “She’ll tell you,” he said. “Judith is the most honest person you’re ever going to meet.”

Judith gave Angel a flattered look as she approached them.

Mr. Hart tugged his elbow away from Angel. “Yeah, no doubt,” he agreed quickly. “I’m still going to go…”

“Can I help?” Judith asked.

“Tell him about how the shoes from the store are poisoned,” Angel replied, giving her a pleading look to, for once, for the sake of an innocent foot, go against her transparent nature.

“I will not,” Judith frowned. “That’s a lie.”

Angel dropped his forehead into his palm.

Judith turned to Mr. Hart. “The truth, however, is a bit difficult to swallow,” she told him. “You might prefer to believe it’s poison. The metaphor is accurate, anyway.”

Angel raised his gaze and saw Mr. Hart blinking at her.

“I’m in the same boat, I’m afraid,” Judith went on. “If it helps, I expect we’ll be well compensated by the manager for the inconvenience of tonight.”

Mr. Hart blinked at her again. If Angel had breath, he would have held it.

“This...is weird,” Mr. Hart said.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Judith said, reaching out and touching her fingers to Mr. Hart’s other elbow. He did not try to pull away from her. “Come,” she urged. “I expect it won’t take long and you will be entirely safe.” She shot Angel a hard look and asked, “Right?”

“Y-yeah, of course,” Angel nodded. “Safety is our top priority.”

Judith urged Mr. Hart forward again, and he reluctantly moved with her. Angel hurriedly stepped sideways out of their way. He didn’t get a chance to catch her eye to thank her; she was too busy saying in a soothing voice to Mr. Hart how lovely and remarkable she found the forest room.

“Magic,” Angel whispered as he watched them go. Then, suddenly remembering, he dashed forward and called after them through the doorway, “Go through the waterfall!”

The lift doors opened behind him again and Angel turned. Gemma Moon and Basil Wood stepped off, arm-in-arm and looking excited, pupils just as dilated as the night before. Wonderful.

“Bays still thinks you’re kind of a creep-o, but he can’t remember why,” Gemma announced to Angel as they approached. Both were - thankfully - dressed this time, if in matching leather ensembles. Gemma wore a red leather miniskirt which showed off her black ribbon stilettos from the night before and a black cropped leather jacket over a silky red top. Bays also had a black leather jacket over a red silk shirt and black leather trousers that deep down made Angel a little jealous. They would have fit right in as food downstairs. “But he can’t resist invitations to back doors. Can you, Bays?”

“Depends on the ass letting me in,” Bays grinned wickedly. He gave Angel a once-over. “Yours is cute enough, though. If creepily enigmatic.”

Not sure how to respond to any of that, Angel just said, “Uhhh.”

Gemma slapped Bays’ chest playfully and then let go of his arm to bounce ( _how_ , in those shoes?) up to Angel and place a kiss on his cheek. “So?” she asked. “Where do you want us?”

“Oh, right,” Angel nodded, fighting simultaneous urges to answer _Nowhere_ and _In the next room_. When he had the urges sorted, he pointed toward the forest room. “In there, to the right. Through the waterfall.”

“Is there a bar?” Bays asked, somehow breezing right over _Through the waterfall_.

“Technically…” Angel replied.

“Come on,” Gemma said, taking Bays’ arm again and pulling him forward. “My treat.”

They headed into the forest room, which elicited impressed _ahhhh_ ’s, and Angel called after them to remind them about the waterfall before turning back to look at the lift expectantly. He couldn’t hear it moving, so he had a few moments alone to think.

Tuning into the position of the sun, Angel decided it was about 11:25pm. Six out of eight of the victims had arrived and were presumably being tied into position (well, two of them would be after they discovered the bar was not open for business). The boys could handle the summoning and the offering on their own, he was pretty sure… Damn, this just might work.

“It seems you have everything in hand,” Brona’s voice came softly from the the doorway to the forest room.

Angel looked back at her. “Just about,” he agreed. “Two more have yet to show. Are the boys doing alright with setting up the summoning?”

Brona inclined her head. “They also seem to have everything in hand. You apparently have a profound influence on them.”

“I think I’m riding on their childhood awe of having a vampire for a friend,” Angel replied, half shrugging. “I’m expecting it to fade any day now.”

“No,” Brona said quietly. She paused, seeming hesitant. Then she stepped forward, drawing level with Angel, and she said, not quite meeting his eyes, “You have their respect. That doesn’t fade. It’s what any father strives for.”

Angel chuckled nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m not their father. I’ve had to remind them of that many times.” Which, saying it out loud, Angel suddenly realized didn’t help his case. If he had to remind them, that meant they kept forgetting.

“Exactly,” Brona replied. “Whether or not you begat them makes little difference. Your father strove for the same respect with you.”

Angel shifted with his discomfort. While he understood his father’s position better now, having also gone through fatherhood (and a difficult one at that), he was hardly closer to forgiveness about any of it. It had sat in the background of his past, drifting further away with time but becoming no smaller as it did.

He wasn’t sure what to say. The first several things that came to mind were inflammatory, blaming. But things had been going so well with Brona there, especially considering the circumstances, and he didn’t want to provoke anything. The next few things that came to mind were self-deprecating, which, while perhaps true, he didn’t particularly want to say.

When those things had filtered by, another new thought rose up, and this one he said. “We were probably too similar for me to have that kind of respect for him. At some point that’s like having respect for yourself, which I also couldn’t have done at the time.”

Brona stared at him in surprise for a long and uncomfortable moment. “You seemed quite proud of yourself to me,” she finally said.

Angel half-shrugged again. “Pride doesn’t equal respect,” he replied. “I had to pretend to be happy with where my life was going, or else admit I was wrong. Self-respect would have meant the latter, wouldn’t it?”

Brona nodded in agreement, quickly lowering her eyes away from Angel’s gaze, where he couldn’t read her. “Yes it would,” she said steadily. “Do you have that self-respect now?”

Something stabbed painfully in Angel’s chest and he winced. He looked away, too, even though she couldn’t see his expression. It took a moment to gather up his courage and, like walking through the fake waterfall, brace himself to say, “Yes. I was wrong.” He swallowed at the sharpness in his throat. “But I still have enough pride that it kills me to say it.”

“Pride is one of the Seven Deadly Sins,” Brona replied, her voice soft. “It’s no great loss to kill.”

“And is it pride or truth to say that Father was wrong, too?” Angel asked.

Again, Brona was unnervingly quiet for a moment. Then she replied, “Truth. He had pride, too. But I will not speak any more ill of him, as my husband or as the dead.”

The sharpness in Angel’s chest twisted, and he nodded quickly. He tuned into the position of the sun again. A little after 11:30. He needed to be present and together for at least the next half hour.

“I’ll go see if anyone is having trouble finding the back door,” he said.

He headed for the lifts.


	14. Chapter 14

When Angel returned about twenty minutes later with Gina Price in tow (her cursed shoes had also been running shoes; she was training for a triathlon the following week and her old shoes had suddenly torn a hole - she’d been thrilled with the great last-minute find), he found Emily speaking with William and Calder near one of the rattling trunks.

He directed Gina Price toward Ana-Monique and went to speak with Emily.

“Angel,” Emily said as he approached but her eyes followed Gina, “it looks like things are coming together.”

“Actually, we have a problem,” Calder said.

Emily tossed out her wrist, bracelets and piercings rattling.

“Mr. Hart’s locked in a broom cupboard,” William burst out.

“You’re welcome,” said Emily.

Angel swore softly. “Why? Where?”

Three fingers pointed toward the far corner.

“He said we were probably going to steal his liver,” Calder elaborated. “But we were only trying to get his shoes.”

“We had to stop him!” William continued. “But I didn’t want to, you know, _stop him_.” He made a grabbing motion.

“It put the old lady on edge even without the grabbing,” Calder said. “Isn’t her liver past the expiration date anyway?”

“I caught him as he came down the stairs,” Emily said with a dark grin. “I guess I’m a hero now.”

Angel swallowed uncomfortably. “But Judith--?”

“Even my mum can’t explain away the fact that we want to tie the man to the wall. He thinks she’s a plant.”

Angel ground his teeth in frustration. He’d had so much hope in her… “Okay,” he sighed, rubbing his head. “Is there anything in the broom closet he can use to cut off his own toes?”

Emily just looked blankly at him.

“Right,” Angel nodded quickly. “So I guess...I’ll go drag him out. Or knock him out. Can I do that?”

“I’ll do that,” Emily said. “I might have already nipped him. We’re close.”

Angel gave her a look. “No one here is food,” he reminded her sternly.

Emily shrugged. “I was helping,” she said.

“Don’t help too much,” Angel replied. He glanced at the boys. “Everyone else settled? Ritual set? Offering ready? How many pairs of shoes do you have?”

Gina Price walked quickly back through doorway, shaking her head. “This is exactly how people get their livers stolen,” she muttered as she increased her pace.

“Yeah,” Calder said as he moved to intercept Gina, “It’s going great.”

Gina gave him a quick nod and tried to sidestep around Calder. “Thanks, but you’re all...crazy. Not my cup of tea...I’m just going...”

“No, look,” Angel said quickly, holding up his hand placatingly as he approached her. “I swear, your liver’s going to be fine. Honestly, it’s your feet that might get cut up.”

Gina’s face went pale. She feinted to the right and then dashed left around Calder. “I’m going home,” she said, holding up her own hand, the silver ring that was her Palm glowed. “Let me go and I won’t activate my distress button.”

Gemma Moon’s voice came from the first ice room, “So when are we starting?”

Trying not to panic, and trying to fight his urges to just knock Gina out, too (although was it assault if it saved the person from a much worse injury?), Angel held up both hands while moving to block the doorway. “Look,” he said, “I know how this must look--”

“ _Do_ you?” she interrupted.

“But I _swear_ ,” Angel continued as if she hadn’t, “this will all be over in--” he checked in with the sun as it inched its way closer to directly below them, “--seven minutes. Eight. We’re on your side.” He gave her his most innocent-looking expression, hoping it would help.

“Get out of my way!” Gina said, her voice raising worryingly high.

“Listen,” Emily said, pushing Angel aside, “I’m the owner of Decade, we take safety very seriously here. Angel’s a bit intense. How about I take you downstairs and call you a cab? You can sit in my office until it gets here.”

Angel gave Emily a skeptical sideways look.

“The last thing we need is the police showing up over a misunderstanding of kinks,” Emily said calmly. “It happens. Let’s get you home.”

Deciding he was just going to have to trust Emily after the looks she’d been giving Gina, Angel reluctantly stepped aside.

“Thanks,” Gina sniffed to Emily as they headed through the door.

“Of course,” Emily said, her arm wrapping around Gina’s shoulder. She looked back and winked at Angel as they exited out into the main room.

Angel swore softly under his breath again.

“Is she going to be okay?” William whispered to Angel.

Instead of answering, Angel turned to them and said, “Make sure you’re ready to start. It’s almost midnight. I’ll handle Mr. Hart.”

“Wait, there’s still one more,” Calder protested. “Vivian Stokes.”

Angel shrugged helplessly. “We gave her a chance,” he replied. “We need to focus on the people who showed up.”

William and Calder exchanged dissatisfied looks with that answer, but didn’t argue.

On his way over to the broom closet, Angel stopped by the ice room to see how Ana-Monique was doing with the other restrainees. Judith was valiantly maintaining a stoic expression, and she was doing by far the best.

“Have I mentioned how _incredibly_ claustrophobic I am?” Penelope Gardner was saying as beads of sweat ran down her pale face to Ana-Monique, who was still trying to soothe Mrs. Willis over Gemma and Bays complaining that they were bored.

“Great,” Angel said quietly, inching back. “Looks like you’ve got...everything…” He hurried away before she could notice he was there and ask for help.

The broom closet was at the far end of the dungeon, and the door to it was rattling like the trunks. Angel edged up to it and knocked. “Mr. Hart?” he asked tentatively.

The rattling stopped. “Hello? Oh _god_ help me! They’re _insane_ here! Seriously, man, you’ve _got_ to get me out of here.”

“Yeah,” Angel agreed. “Yeah, of course, I will. Just...just hang tight for a few minutes, okay?”

“You sure?” Santiago Hart’s muffled voice came through the door. “You’re going to get me out of here?”

“Of course,” Angel replied soothingly. “I-- I just need to get a key. Give me--” Angel checked in with the sun again. “Four minutes. Okay?”

“Okay, yeah, okay.” Mr. Hart’s heart pounded so loudly Angel could hear it through the door like his ear was pressed against his chest.

Angel turned around. The boys were behind him in the room with the chair, getting ready to start the summoning. After watching them for a moment from afar, he decided they were alright and headed back toward the first ice room, which Brona was watching from near the shelves against the opposite wall, her expression a mix of horrified fascination and pity, presumably for Ana-Monique.

“You could help you know,” he said as he approached her, nodding toward the ice-walled room where a myriad of sounds from sobbing to whining to that high-pitched old lady indignation were coming from. Brona raised her eyebrows at him like she used to when he’d say something inflammatory in front of his father just to get the reaction.

“You can still talk,” he pointed out. “I’ve proven bad at it myself on many occasions - and not just tonight. I don’t think she wants me going in there to help.”

Brona crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I think poor communication is a family trait,” she said stiffly.

“Not on your side,” Angel replied. Brona hadn’t often interjected herself into the arguments between Liam and his father, but Angel could remember her saying things quietly to him when they were alone together; short things, yet profound. Things that would make him reconsider his life choices until the call of his addictions or the shout of his father made him forget.

“I would hardly--” Brona shifted her posture uncomfortable, looking around the dungeon. “I am quite out of my element here.”

The corner of Angel’s mouth twitched in a smile. “Yeah, me too.”

Brona glanced at him sideways through narrowed eyes.

Angel shrugged innocently. “This place is for _fairies_ , not vampires,” he pointed out. Although privately he thought the ice walls weren’t a bad idea.

“How fortunate,” Brona replied dryly, although Angel thought that it was. At least for him. But from what he’d heard, fairies _could_ be a kinky bunch.

“Well,” Angel sighed. “I’m going to go see if--”

“I’m here!” A woman in her late-30’s, early-40’s suddenly burst into the room. She skidded to a halt, beads and bangles jangling from her outfit that would have looked normal in a 1940’s cabaret. She looked around the room, taking in the scene that Ana-Monique was desperately trying to calm, said, “Holy shit, no I’m not!” and ran from the room again.

Angel swore under his breath and dashed after her, calling back to William and Calder, “Go!”

“It’s 11:58!” William protested after him.

“Close enough!” Angel disappeared through the gate, passing a short goblin-esque creature Angel had often seen manning the back door; it looked bewildered as they passed.

On the other side of the waterfall, the lady Angel assumed to be Vivian Stokes was just disappearing into the foyer with the lifts, and Angel tore after her.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope--” she was saying, “--where are the damn stairs?! Oh--”

“Wait, please!” Angel called after her, reaching the foyer just as Vivian Stokes reached the emergency stairway. Miraculously, she paused and turned to look at him cautiously. She was wearing _bright_ green eyeshadow. Then, getting an idea, Angel said, “Go see Emily Slipp. She’s the owner. She’s calling a cab for the other person who decided she wasn’t interested.”

Well plucked eyebrows arched up. “Oh. That’s...suspiciously nice of her.”

“This is a high-end establishment,” Angel shrugged. “In fact--” He looked back toward the waterfall, where the goblin (half-goblin, actually, Angel thought; full goblins were much uglier than this fellow) was taking his time returning across the forest room. Angel snapped his fingers at him authoritatively and tried not to wince at the glare he got in response. “Would you please escort this lady to Emily’s office?” he asked, earning another glare. “Quickly?”

The pace didn’t change in the slightest. So Angel changed it for him.

“Thank you very much,” he said as if the half-goblin had agreed enthusiastically, then he turned and nodded farewell to Vivian Stokes as if that was that and all was well, and eased out of the doorway back into the forest room. Once out of sight, he dashed up to the glaring goblin, told him in a hushed tone to tell Emily to add a generous tip to the final bill for him, and, once the goblin was happily trotting off, he hurried back into the dungeon, proud of himself for that solution.

The pride was quickly forgotten, though, when he arrived and found most of the victims fighting at their restraints, the broom closet door banging practically off its hinges, and something like lightning and thunder coming from the far ice room. Less than a minute left, and the victims would be shrieking in their inability to get to their feet.

Angel hurried up to the first ice room and noticed Brona first, who was actually trying to talk Mrs. Willis down. Angel almost smiled, but he looked at Ana-Monique and said, “Double check the restraints,” he said. “They get stronger with the spell.”

Ana-Monique nodded curtly and she bent to check Gemma Moon’s ankle restraints with utter professionalism, even though Gemma was trying very hard to bite her in frustration (“This is _not_ sexy and _O_ is EXPENSIVE!”).

“Mr. Hart?” Ana-Monique asked.

“On him,” Angel said, then hesitated. “I mean not-- Never mind.”

He dashed back down to the broom closet and broke the lock with a quick twist (he’d be seeing that on the final bill, too), and Mr. Hart fell out practically on top of him.

“Oh thank _god_ ,” Mr. Hart said. “Wait-- You’re the guy who--”

“Sorry, no time,” Angel said as another clap of thunder came from the ice room behind him. He bent and picked Mr. Hart up, hefting him on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes (if sacks of potatoes thrashed and spewed out curse words). With one or two close calls of nearly crashing to the floor, Angel took him back to the first ice room, shouting that he needed handcuffs just as he arrived.

At once, there was a huge, final-sounding crash of thunder and each of the victims suddenly became still and glassy-eyed. This was it. He set Mr. Hart down as the magic from the curse started to take hold of him. Mr Hart looked blankly around, probably for the nearest knife. Ana-Monique slid a pile of restraints across the slate floor, screeching horribly.

“Do you need--” she started, but Angel interrupted.

“--I got it, go on.”

As the manager of the offending store, they’d decided that while the boys would summon the fairy, Ana-Monique should be the one to make the actual apology. She dashed off down the dungeon for the third room.

Angel grabbed one of the handcuffs at random, shaking off others that got caught on it and managed to slap one end on Santiago Hart’s wrist before he got too far (the shelves just across the way seemed to have caught his attention). A surprisingly horrible grunting, moaning sound began to come from the other victims as they found their restraints keeping them in place. Metal began to rattle like ghost chains.

Brona appeared quickly next to Angel, glancing behind her with a thoroughly unnerved expression, and Angel could hardly blame her.

“ _SORRY??_ ” A voice screeched from the other end of the hall, drawing Angel and Brona’s attention.

Angel winced. “Fairies,” he muttered.

“Indeed,” Brona agreed in the same tone. “I’ll go see if they need instruction.” Lifting her skirts a few inches, she marched off toward the last dungeon room.

Mr. Hart twisted harder away from Angel, drawing his attention back, and he grabbed Mr. Hart’s other elbow, pulling it behind his back, and cuffed his other wrist. The magic itched unpleasantly under Angel’s hands. “I feel like I should tell you your rights,” he said to the man as he began to struggle, “but somehow I don’t think you’ll find it funny.”

Mr. Hart grunted in surprise and then in frustration, twisting and jerking around to figure out what had happened. Angel took him by the elbow to get him to stop before he ran into something, but that only made him thrash harder. Gemma Moon (Angel assumed it was Gemma) screamed in such loud rage Angel nearly let go to protect his ears.

“And yet,” Angel muttered, aware that he was talking to himself, “this isn’t nearly as bad as last night. A minute should be--”

“Angel!” Brona’s voice called urgently, and Angel turned, looking in the direction that Brona was pointing and getting himself yanked by another of Mr. Hart’s thrashes.

A cold fist clenched Angel’s stomach.

Judith Cole was standing calmly in front of the same shelves Mr. Hart had been going for, perusing her options.

Angel swore foully. “You’re on your own, buddy,” he said, and shoved Mr. Hart into the ice room hard enough to make him fall, wincing as he crashed into Bays. Angel reached Judith just as she picked up a beautiful obsidian dagger and he grabbed her wrist with his right hand, wrapping his other arm around her waist to twist her away.

She cried out in shock and then wrenched herself to the right, where Angel’s grip with his left hand at her waist was weakest. She broke free and they stumbled, tripping over each other’s feet for several steps, but Angel managed to keep them from falling. Judith wrench again, this time the other way to free her wrist with the dagger, but Angel’s grip was strong and there was no way in hell he’d let her go.

She screamed in frustration again, adding to the shouts from the other room. She reached for the dagger with her free hand but like a snake weaving through grass, Angel’s arm wrapped around in front of hers and then behind her back, forcing her shoulder back.

A crash sounded behind them, but Angel couldn’t afford to turn around and see what kind of trouble Mr. Hart was getting himself into. Judith threw her weight again and they stumbled. Angel’s shoulder hit the shelves, knocking several things off with glass smashing against the floor, and something heavy falling painfully onto Angel’s head. For a second in his dizziness, Angel’s grip loosened and Judith slithered free, the dagger still in her hand. Angel stumbled after her and tripped over Mr. Hart, who was scrambling, still cuffed, over to the fallen objects, and Angel fell hard onto the slate.

He might have actually blacked out for a second or two because the next thing Angel knew, he was looking up at Judith, who had taken off her left shoe and was balancing, steady as a ballerina, on her right foot, preparing to slice the toes off her raised left foot.

“Judith,” Angel groaned, rolling up. He felt surprisingly dizzy.

She didn’t seem to hear him. Judith placed the sharp edge of the dagger against the outside of her foot.

With a last burst of effort, Angel lunged upward, grabbed her wrist, and yanked hard away from her foot. They fell, Angel landing hard again on the slate and Judith landing just as hard on his stomach, which was already nauseous with dizziness. The dagger clattered away and Angel groaned in pain, clinging hard to Judith’s wrist.

But she didn’t try to fight him, which in his state took a few moments to realize.

Come to think of it, the whole room was much quieter than it had been.

Angel looked around. His vision seemed a bit fuzzy, but Judith was close enough that he could see her bewildered expression. She looked over at him and he breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes were clear and present. She was back.

Angel let go of her wrist and relaxed back against the stone floor, breathing hard.

“Oh goodness,” he heard Judith say, and her weight abruptly lifted from his stomach.

“Mum?” William’s voice and fast footsteps came from the other end of the hall. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, I--”

The next several moments were chaos that Angel’s brain couldn’t quite sort. Calder helped him up. People were freed from their restraints. Most of them ran from the room.

Finally, Angel heard his name and he blinked, his focus coming around to Ana-Monique.

“You with us?” she asked.

Angel nodded, and it was a bit painful. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Got hit in the head. Did it work?”

She smiled. “We had to beg a little extra hard, but it’s nothing our dignities can’t recover from. Curse is lifted.”

Angel exhaled deeply.

“Exactly,” Ana-Monique agreed.

Angel looked around. The place was a wreck. Cuffs, ropes, and other restraint lay strewn everywhere, the slate was scuffed, ice chipped, potions smashed where they’d fallen off the shelves, and there was a burning smell coming from the fairy summoning circle that Angel didn’t even want to look at.

“Hey,” Angel said, turning to Ana-Monique, “now seems like an ideal time to mention that I can’t afford all these damages.”

“We’ll work something out,” she promised him.

“Good,” Angel nodded gratefully. “In that case, it also seems like an ideal time to mention that I’d like to go pass out for a bit.”

“You go do that,” she nodded. “I’ll clean up what I can.”

“Get the boys to help,” he told her. “And do _not_ touch those potions.” He pointed to the puddle on the floor by the shelves, which was starting to steam.

“No worries there,” she said, eyeing it warily.

Angel stumbled away, quite forgetting Brona, who caught up with him at the elevator, and quite forgetting where he’d parked the car until Brona reminded him, and quite forgetting that his car had an automatic mode until William ran out after them and set it up for him.

“By the way,” William said after making sure Angel was buckled, “thanks for looking after my mum.”

“Ah, well,” Angel replied slurrily, “Mums are important.”

William hugged him, a bit awkwardly with their angle. “Don’t touch the steering wheel,” he reminded Angel before he closed the door. “Let her take care of you this time.”

“You know me way too well,” Angel complained, but he crossed his arms so he wouldn’t be tempted to drive, and William closed the door. Angel didn’t remember much of the rest of the night.


	15. Chapter 15

When Angel woke up, it was just after noon and since his shoes were still on, he guessed he hadn’t moved from where he’d collapsed on his bed all night. Groggily, he got up, showered, and put on fresh clothes, and by the time he emerged from his room he was feeling surprisingly better.

Until he realized that both Judith and Brona were in the living room, sitting on the couches and talking. It always made Angel nervous when mothers talked to each other. They tended to say very serious things that were often negative about him and his lifestyle. Okay, sure, he was a vampire, but he was _trying_ to live a good (or at least neutral) life.

Angel swallowed nervously as they looked up.

Judith stood gracefully, and Angel noticed that several books were laid out and open on the apothecary table. “Oh,” she said, following his gaze. “We weren’t sure how much longer you’d be, and since your mother can’t move anything I set out some things for her to read. I’ll put them back.”

“No need,” Angel shook his head. “I’ll do it later. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Judith said, stepping around the table. “That was why I came by. I wanted to thank you. I hear it was a very close call,” she inclined her head toward Brona.

Angel nodded. “Of course. There’s no need to… How’d you get out of your restraints, anyway?”

“Apparently, mine were the amateur kind,” Judith shrugged, a glimmer of amusement in her eye. “Or perhaps faulty. Either way, the catch never caught, and since I was the most compliant, my restraints were never checked. My younger self tells me there’s a lesson there about being too well-behaved.” The glimmer of amusement caught into a small smile.

“What about your current self?” Angel asked.

“Oh, she points out that she has very kind friends to catch her if her compliancy ever gets her in trouble again.”

Angel smiled. “I’m just glad I was in time. I’d never be able to face Will again.”

“Yes, he would be the difficult one to face,” Judith agreed with false seriousness. “How is your head?”

“I’ve had worse hangovers,” Angel replied, shrugging it off. “And I heal fast.”

“Good,” Judith said, satisfied. “Then is there anything we can help with? Do you still need Will?”

Angel had to think for a minute, like placing thoughts back on a knocked-over shelf. “The foot thing is done,” he finally said, then he glanced over at Brona, who was still on the couch. “Right?”

“The Good Folk cannot tell a falsehood,” Brona replied. “She stated quite clearly that all was forgiven and the curse removed.”

Angel exhaled with relief. “Then I just have to settle with Emily. The only other thing is--” Angel glanced at Brona again, but they quickly looked away from each other. “We’re making the girl who’s responsible reverse what she did,” Angel said to Judith. “I shouldn’t need Will for that.”

Judith gave Angel an impressed nod, and it made Angel feel oddly proud of himself; like he’d made a good decision. “Well, if you do end up needing him, just ask,” she said.

“Feeling better about being alone with your mother?” Angel asked.

“Lord, no,” Judith said as she pushed out a sharp breath. “So I’m hoping very much you don’t. I was trying to be selfless.”

“Right,” Angel nodded understandingly. “I appreciate the gesture. You can keep him.”

Judith smiled and then shifted, making ready to leave. “One more thing before I go,” she said. “I brought your duffle back,” she nodded toward the wall by the door, where Angel’s black duffle with his own restraints and magic ingredients sat under the coat hooks. Angel’s stomach twisted a little with embarrassment. “Calder volunteered to bring it for you, but I insisted. I think I managed to find all of your things, but there may be a few items from the club mixed in.”

Angel was deeply grateful to her for taking the initiative on that. She, at least, would certainly never bring it up again. Still, his very insides squirmed at the idea. “Thanks,” he said calmly. “I’ll take inventory later.”

Judith dipped her head at him, perhaps to hide the glimmer that still sparked in her eye.

“Oh,” Angel said, and she looked back up at him, “did you hear anything about the two that went to Emily’s office? Price and Stokes?”

“Oh yes,” Judith replied. “Emily appeared not long after you left. She said that they hadn't lost anything that wouldn't grow back.”

Angel blinked, nodded, and said, “Good.”

“I agree,” Judith said simply. Then she turned to Brona. “I’m not really sure what one says in these situations,” she admitted. “Except that it was lovely to meet you and that I hope you find...peace.”

Brona stood from the couch, looking genuinely touched. “ _Go raibh míle maith agat,_ ” she said. A blessing of thanks. “ _Solas Mhic Dé ar d'anam._ ” The light of the Son of God on your soul.

Judith smiled at her. “ _Mar an gcéanna leat_.” The same to you.

She nodded once again to Brona, to Angel, and then left.

* * *

Brona had had all night and most of the morning to think and pray alone, and she had needed every moment.

Now that the fae had been appeased, she was next on the list. Her soul the next in line to be done with; the next fate to be dealt. What Liam-- No. Angel. What Angel had said to her in the car about his love who had gone to heaven had comforted her deeply. At least the place of her faith existed, even if the rules surrounding who went there were in question. Kathy would be there, she was sure. That was a significant relief.

Still, she had many hours to sit or wander around the house while Angel slept, her circular thoughts creating her own sort of purgatory as she waited, waited, death and judgment looming.

The visit from Judith Cole was a gift. She broke the knot in Brona’s mind with simple kindness, thinking to set out books for her to read (and even taking care to choose books she might enjoy). And she helped straighten the kinks with the chance for Brona to express how she was faring, in truth. Brona had given a polite answer at first, but then Judith (as she requested to be called) had explained that sitting with the bereaved and coaching those in turmoil was her job. She had pointed out that Brona could hardly be expected to be doing well, having just lost her family and now being stuck in a strange future with a man who both was and was not her son, and then having to set aside her grief to help solve a problem which wasn’t even hers, and finally now facing her true end.

The mere acknowledgement of that had made Brona burst into tears.

After several minutes, when the sobs started to subside, Judith apologized for not being able to get her a tissue or a glass of water, but that she would gladly listen if Brona wanted to get anything off her chest. Brona hadn’t heard that phrase before, but she knew instantly what it meant. Her chest felt like someone had been sitting on it since Liam had died.

“I have been afraid for so long,” Brona finally said, brushing the tears from her cheeks, “for all of my children. I have long known that we must be cursed, or for some reason especially desirable to the Fae. My youngest daughter seemed to be the only one protected so far from malicious influences, but of course now--” Brona had to stop there as another spasm of grief rolled over her.

Judith had remained quiet throughout, yet gently attentive, unendingly patient as she waited for Brona to be able to speak again.

“Now I see the end of our family and the darkness that took us all, and yet--” Brona paused to look up, blurrily, at Judith’s face. “--And yet I find it’s _not_ the end, and _not_ all in darkness. Though my son is still a vampire and still engages in--” Brona shook her head, “ _questionable_ activities, he...puts himself in harm’s way for others. Mentors youth to do the same. Has a beautiful son who looks quite like his namesake. He loves deeply.”

Judith smiled gently at Brona. “Although I know Angel has had his...challenges,” she said softly, seeming not quite content with that word choice, “he’s demonstrated time and again that he believes in making choices that are good and right, even if he gains nothing from it in the end. I would say that’s one of the many definitions of Enlightenment.” Pausing, she then added, “Not that I think he’s reached Christ-like levels of living, but he is trying, and for a vampire I think that’s remarkable.”

Brona nodded, letting that sink in. “I would have thought impossible,” she finally murmured. “Yes, it’s remarkable.”

“And, as you said, it is not the end,” Judith added.

“Yes,” Brona nodded. “I alternate between finding that comforting and terrifying, for myself and for him. What choices are still before us, after death has taken us?”

Judith didn’t reply immediately, although the question had been rhetorical. Who could answer that but God?

“I think,” Judith said thoughtfully after a long moment, “that at its heart, choices come down to meaning.” She paused, seeming to gather words, and then continued, “The specifics change, of course, but whether it’s between flavors of tea or whether to help the vampire who killed you appease some fairies, it’s all about what kind of meaning that choice will give you, in that moment and beyond. From what I’ve observed of Angel, that doesn’t change after death.”

Again, Brona thought back to the conversation in the car, and how Angel had said that being manipulated into choices didn’t seem like choosing at all. But even being manipulated gave meaning; if bitter meaning. It was still choosing the less bitter option for a less bitter life, even if someone else had orchestrated it.

“I don’t know how anyone is meant to choose anything without guidance,” Brona said. “We have such limited perspective here. To be honest, I was looking forward to someday reaching a life after death where choices need not be made at all. Where the meaning is already pure and overflowing.”

“You may yet get there,” Judith replied softly. “It seems reasonable that if a realm exists where choices must be made, there also exists a realm where choices _don’t_ need to be made.”

Brona nodded in agreement, but felt herself sliding back into the mental trap of postulating about the unknowable, where anxiety breeds and cannot escape. After a moment she said, “I have often wondered since arriving here if this isn’t Purgatory. It’s a bit heretical of me, but the spirit of it does seem to fit.”

“I’ve often thought of earth as a place where both heaven and hell can exist in very real forms,” Judith replied. “I don’t see why purgatory can’t, either.”

“Then I suppose that will be my next destination,” Brona said, pulling in a breath. She couldn’t actually feel the air move into her chest the way she could when she was alive, but the motion was still instinctive and comforting because of it. “I will have hardly spent enough time here to merit a pass when the spell is undone.” And that time hadn’t been all unpleasant, or purgatory-like either. Meeting Connor had been an unexpected joy.

Judith bit her lower lip. Brona couldn’t imagine she’d often needed to counsel ghosts; although Judith had said that she sat by deathbeds to support her family, and what were ghosts but one step off the deathbed?

“If it would help, I will light candles for you and your family once the spell is reserved,” Judith offered.

After a moment of confusion, Brona replied, “I thought your mother said that you are no longer a believer?”

“I’m no longer a Catholic,” Judith replied, “but I see no reason why that should prevent me from lighting candles for you. I’m in the hospital chapel often anyway. Brona: my son is still living thanks to yours. I will light candles for you the rest of my days and call myself a believer in the message of gratitude for William’s salvation that it sends to you.”

A tear spilled over Brona’s cheek again. Unable to speak, she nodded, and she hoped it came off as grateful. A moment later, a strange sound started, a bit like rain, and Judith commented that Angel must be awake. She asked if Brona would like her to stay with them after she said her piece, in case of any mediation.

Brona considered, but eventually refused. There were some things which would need to be said, and she thought they could be said alone. Judith nodded in understanding and, after several more moments of that strange sound, Brona asked what it was and why it meant that Angel was awake.

Then Brona learned about the wonder of showers, and wished - just a little - that there were a way she could stay to experience one.

* * *

Even though it involved more effort than calling or texting, Calder decided to go visit Jodie to talk to her about that evening’s plans and to (nicely) say, “ _You_ kill Angel’s mother this time; he already did it once.” Angel had taught Calder that it was generally better to ask girls out on dates in person, and he figured that translated to going out for dark spells in graveyards.

Also, Calder’s mum was yelling at his brother to keep his loud, early teenage emo music down so she could watch her show about billionaire estates, and Calder wasn’t in the mood to hear any of it.

He arrived mid-afternoon, and it being a sunny early spring day, the neighborhood was alive with activity. Kids playing, parents gardening, birds swooping. It was the picture of idyllic middle class life. Jodie was also outside, sitting in the front yard and tossing a ball for their little white dog, which started barking as Calder came up the walk.

“Cocoa!” Jodie called as the dog raced up to Calder, jumping and sniffing at Calder as high as it could reach, which was not quite Calder’s knee if it stretched. “I’ll put him in his crate,” Jodie said apologetically, picking up the tiny dog.

Calder shrugged. “I don’t mind. But uh… Cocoa?” He eyed the snowy white fur.

Jodie rolled her eyes slightly. “I was five and wanted a dog named Cocoa.” She shrugged too, not needing to add anything else.

“Right,” Calder nodded. He lifted his hand to let the little dog sniff it. “So...we need to talk.”

Jodie looked at him, raising her eyebrows apprehensively. “You already told me off for not listening to you,” she reminded him. “Which is kinda ironic.”

Frowning, Calder asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well it’s not like you’re known for good behavior, Lauchley.”

Calder crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, at least I know better than to attempt a raising,” he grumbled. “ _Twice_.”

Jodie rolled her eyes. Cocoa struggled in her arms to get down, and she bent and set him on the ground. When she straightened up, she said, “Alright. You wanna go back to my room or is it going to be quick?”

“ _Jodie_ ,” Calder grinned flirtatiously, shuffling his foot against the concrete of the front walk.

“Ha, ha,” Jodie replied, rolling her eyes again. “Yeah, okay, that’s what she said.”

Satisfied that the joke had landed, if not well, Calder dropped the act and suggested they throw the ball for the dog in the backyard, further out of hearing but still outside for the nice spring day.

Once they were settled in the grass and Cocoa was already tearing off around the weathered swing set after his ball, Calder said, “So we’re going to do the reversal tonight, at Kentfield Cemetery, after sundown. We’ll need you to bring the robe, the crystal you got from Ferguson’s, and the book. And do you know where the unicorn is?”

Jodie shook her head sadly. “I found its horn broken off in the alley by Decade, though. I think it’s gone for good.” Cocoa returned with the ball, dropped it at Jodie’s feet, and she threw it again.

“Bring the horn, too,” he told her. “We need to try to de-animate it also.”

Jodie nodded, understanding.

“What about those people Will and I fought at your party?” Calder asked. “Do we need to bring them in?”

Jodie shrugged. “They were my cousins, Robbie and Mark. They thought it would be a laugh to try it, but they didn’t think so anymore once the police showed up. I didn’t call them in for help with the second time.”

“Okay,” Calder said, “we’re forgetting Robbie and Mark. Last thing is that I have to give you a fair warning: you’re going to be the one to do the reversal.”

Jodie looked at Calder in surprise. “But I’ve only ever screwed it up! I brought the wrong person to life! How can you expect me to do a _de_ animation without _killing_ the wrong person? What if I kill _you?_ Or _me?_ ”

That was a good question, and Calder tried not to show how concerned he suddenly was. “Angel will be there,” he said assuringly. “He’ll supervise. He has _lots_ of experience with killing people.” He hesitated. “That was supposed to sound comforting.”

“You have a weird head, Calder Lauchley,” Jodie grumbled.

“Says the girl who thought she could bring her dad back to life on her first go at magic,” Calder retorted.

Jodie sighed deeply. Cocoa came back, dropped the ball on the grass, and watched eagerly as Jodie picked it up and threw it. The dog tore off again, and Jodie wiped her fingers on the grass.

“Jodie?” Calder said after watching the dog run right past where the ball landed, stumble to a halt, look wildly around, and pounce after the ball again. “How did your dad die?” Rumors has circulated through school, but none had been verified. At least by a reputable source.

“Overdose,” Jodie replied. “He was on antidepressants, but they don’t think it was intentional.” She sighed again. “At least, not that they’re telling me. He wasn’t a great dad, to be honest. But he was my dad.”

Calder made a noise in the back of his throat. He had one of those. A dad that wasn’t great, but still his dad. Actually, he had a mum like that, too. And a brother. He’d defend them all in a fight, but he wasn’t sure he’d go to great lengths to reanimate them, either. Of course, he’d grown up around Angel, who was an unliving example of why the dead were supposed to stay dead. Calder didn’t have all of his priorities straight, but that one he knew cold.

“Did you think things might be different if you brought him back?” Calder asked.

“Well…” Jodied said, pausing to throw the ball again, “Yeah, I guess so. You know how people who have near-death experiences come back and have a totally new outlook on life and change how they’ve been living because now they see how precious everything is?”

Calder nodded. “You were hoping he’d come back like that.”

“I figured, what’s the difference between a few minutes and a few months, if magic can fix his body?” Jodie shrugged.

“I guess I can see that,” Calder admitted.

“I just wanted things to be normal,” Jodie went on. “It’s a bit late, but I thought we could have a few really good years before I leave home. A few years of doing family things instead of taking Dad to rehab again. You know?”

“Yeah, but what’s normal, really?” Calder replied. “My family isn’t normal. Will’s family definitely isn’t normal. Add magic into the mix, and the only things that are normal are weird. Weird _is_ normal.” He paused. “And now I’ve confused myself.”

Jodie chuckled. Cocoa came back with the ball, and this time Calder threw it. It was slobbery and gross, and Calder wiped his fingers on the grass, grimacing.

“I guess the point is,” Calder continued, “normal doesn’t really exist, and if you accept that, then you can move on with your life in a healthy, non-magic, normal way.” He grinned. That sounded actually a little bit smart.

Jodie chuckled again. “Yeah, I guess,” she agreed. “Either that or you’re full of shit.”

“Oh, I am that,” Calder admitted. “But shit that makes more sense than turning your dad into a zombie.”

“Point taken,” Jodie sighed. “I won’t try again, and you can even keep my dad’s magic stuff after tonight if it makes you feel better.”

“Nah, I believe you,” Calder replied. “I mean, we’ll still keep the book, at least. I think Angel’ll want it. But I, too, have learned the hard way about messing around with magic and shit that’s over your head.”

Jodie leaned back on her hands as Calder - for reasons unknown to him - picked up the dog’s ball and threw it again. There was just something so compelling about that look of eagerness on its little face.

“Yeah?” Jodie said. “That sounds like a good story.”

“Well, it has a good ending,” Calder replied. “The rest of it’s not so great. And kind of embarrassing.”

“I stand by ‘that sounds like a good story.’”

Calder thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you about the part where Angel made a bunch of teenagers practically shit themselves,” he offered.

Jodie grinned and leaned back on her elbows. “I _knew_ it sounded good.”

* * *

After Judith left, Angel called Calder to straighten out plans for the rest of the day. Calder was actually on his way to Jodie’s, so they agreed on which items they would have her bring, which cemetery they were going to, and so on.

Then Angel went around emptying his duffle, refilling it with the things he was bringing that night, putting away the books from the apothecary table, picking up the flat, and generally stalling going into the kitchen to get something to eat, even though he felt starving. It just felt awkward, drinking blood when she could walk into the room at any minute.

“I’m sorry I can’t help,” Brona said at one point as Angel was going through the cabinets of the half-shelves for extra sage. “I feel useless.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Angel replied, offering her a small smile. “I wish I could offer you tea or something…”

“I would take it. Or something a bit stronger,” she added, eyeing his liquor cabinet.

Angel raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?”

She turned to look at him flatly. “I am facing my own impending death again. I would drink you under the table, boy.”

Angel half-smiled, unsure how humorous he was supposed to find it even though it made him want to laugh. He had never heard her talk that way, but, as she’d said, she was facing her own impending death. Again.

“I can relate,” he said, closing the cabinets and standing up. “I died twice. Almost died a lot more times than that. If I could come up with a way to make you corporeal, I’d do it, except I don’t think ghosts can get drunk, even with solid bodies.”

“Never mind,” Brona replied, brushing it off with a half shrug. “Meeting my Creator drunk and full of magic would not make a good impression.”

“I guess not,” Angel agreed. He zipped the duffle up and set it down by the door. Then he went back to his shelves, hoping that Calder had put things back out of order again so he’d have something to do. “I don’t remember meeting a Creator,” he said idly. “But maybe it’s different if you’re in the process of being possessed. My soul left, but my consciousness didn’t.”

Brona was quiet for a while, and Angel started to regret bringing that up. It was hardly comforting. He found an out-of-place book with a slight thrill and pulled it off to reshelve it.

“Did you choose it?” she asked abruptly, and Angel looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“To become a vampire?” he asked, and she nodded. Angel thought about how to answer that for a moment. “I-- She said she would show me other worlds. I didn’t know what that meant, but I wanted to see it. To escape.” He put the book in its proper place and found another one mislaid. He pulled that off the shelf. “I said yes without knowing what I was saying yes to.”

“That is often how Satan operates,” Brona nodded. “I suppose I can quite see how he lured you if he came to you as a woman.” She gave him a weak smile to soften the topic.

He returned it. “It’s less suspect if a woman talks to you than a bottle of O’Malley’s finest whiskey,” he said.

“Not for all men,” Brona replied, and Angel actually laughed.

He put the book he was holding back on the shelf, relaxing a bit. The conversation lulled, but not uncomfortably. Angel rearranged a few more misplaced books, thinking about Darla and Connor. After a bit, forgetting that this thoughts had been in his head and not spoken, he said, “I have pictures of them.”

Brona looked over at him like he’d spoken another language. He’d also forgotten that she didn’t know what pictures were.

“Hold on,” he said, and went back into his room. In his closet on the top shelf next to some spare blankets, Angel pulled out a box of pictures. A long time ago, when digital photos had become a thing, Angel had taken all the important pictures he could find from the Hyperion and hired someone to digitize them for him. He kept the files safely stored, but he liked the tactility of printed photos, and he liked that he could print new ones every time they faded or wore out from handling.

He took them back to the living room, lifting the lid and tucking it underneath before setting it on the apothecary table in front of Brona. He circled around, sat down on the couch beside her, and pulled out several from the top.

“See?” he asked, finding a recognizable one of himself and Wesley leaning over a pile of books at the front desk of the Hyperion and holding it up. “They’re like portraits, but instant. You point the-- It’s called a camera-- You point it and press a button-- Oh, hang on.” Angel suddenly realized that he actually _had_ one of these newfangled devices called cameras on him, and he pulled his Palm out of his pocket and demonstrated for her.

“So it just-- Takes a portrait of anything you want. And lots of times of things you don’t.” Angel couldn’t count the number of pictures he’d deleted of the insides of his pockets. He set the Palm aside on the table and turned his attention back to the box of printed pictures, leafing through for the ones of Connor as a baby.

“Here,” he said, coming to a pile of them. He pulled them out and started laying out the better ones on the table for his mother to see.

Brona did not speak for a long time, though a smile played at her lips. “He _does_ look like your grandfather,” she finally said.

Angel nodded. “Yeah, and good thing, or I’d have chosen the wrong namesake.”

“Who are the others?” she asked.

“Friends,” Angel replied. “Family. I guess I didn’t know them very long, but they… Well, they were family.”

“Including the devil?” Brona asked with an eyebrow raised, pointing to a picture of Lorne singing to Connor out in the garden.

Angel smiled. “It’s true that Lorne was from a hell dimension and a member of a warrior clan. But he left because he loved to heal people with music. He was the most nonviolent of all of us.”

Brona didn’t reply, although she acknowledged this with a nod and continued looking over the pictures. Angel could feel the emotions growing heavy in the room with each passing one they looked at, so he soon turned back to the box to rifle through the others and see if he could find any of Darla.

When Darla was around and pregnant, neither of them had exactly been into taking pictures, but Fred had gone through a period of needing to document, since ‘ya never know when you might accidentally recite the exact mathematical resonant equations that open up a portal to a hell dimension and get stuck for five years and no one has any clue where you went because you didn’t document properly.’

That had run its course around the time Darla showed up again, but Angel was pretty sure there had been some overlap, and then the documenting had become the much more normal, take-as-many-pictures-of-the-new-baby-as-physically-possible kind. Eventually, he did find some of Darla, though most were not very flattering. Darla hadn’t been in the mood to be “documented.”

But there was one where Fred had managed to catch a rare look of vulnerability on Darla’s expression as she looked up at Angel from his bed, their hands clasped. Angel hadn’t even realized that Fred had been there at the time, being so wrapped up in Darla and the child in her. Angel hesitated, feeling like it was almost too personal a moment to share, but made himself set it in front of Brona.

Brona leaned over and stared for a long moment, making Angel feel more tense the longer the silence dragged. Finally, Brona said, “She’s lovely.”

Angel felt oddly relieved. Like taking a girlfriend to meet the parents and having it go well. Not that Angel had ever actually experienced that.

“Before she died,” Angel said, “she said that Connor was the one good thing we did in all our centuries together. She was right.”

Brona looked over at him with such intensity that Angel actually straightened up to give them some distance. She stared until Angel started fidgeting uncomfortably, and then she turned back to the picture.

Finally, and suddenly, Brona drew in a sharp breath and asked, “Are you happy?”

Was he happy? Cordy had yelled at him the summer before because he wasn’t happy enough. Which seemed a little unfair, but he got her point. Now that he was allowed to pursue happiness to any degree he wanted - since the soul was anchored - why didn’t he?

Of course, that little argument hadn’t been long before she’d jumped him and he’d taken her to bed, but that wasn’t the only kind of happiness there was. He hadn’t pursued family again. Family had found him - kind of, sort of, absolutely had but he felt terrified to admit it - but since he’d only recently begun to admit that to himself he was hardly taking advantage of being happy to have them in his life.

He’d bought his car, which brought him a great deal of happiness, if a somewhat more superficial and much safer kind of happiness.

But Brona was asking from years of having watched him spiral out of control with his unhappiness, and having just buried him weeks before because he wanted to escape so badly he’d blindly said yes to the seductress’s offer to take him away with her. Compared with that?

“Yes,” he finally answered. After saying it, he sat with it, realizing how true it was. Or how true it had become in the last several years. “At least...I’m not as afraid of being happy as I used to be.”

Brona made a move like she was going to put her hand on his knee, but then remembered she couldn’t. Angel lifted his hands in a small, understanding shrug. It was a strange conversation to have when light touches couldn’t replace words, but he appreciated her instinct.

“I am very glad to hear that,” she replied, her voice tight with emotion. She nodded to the box. “May I see more?”

Angel started. “Y-yeah,” he said, and leaned forward to take out more pictures.

Cordelia was, of course, a much more common subject of the photos than Darla, and Angel wasn’t sure why he was having a harder time talking about her than Darla to his mother. Maybe it was that the darker parts of his relationship with Darla were already assumed, given that she was a vampire. There was little to hide behind, where his relationship with Cordy was naturally held to higher standards of purity. But since she had asked, Angel found an especially good one of Cordelia playing with Connor in his bassinet and placed it on the table (it seemed important to find just the right one even though she was already in several of the pictures laid out) as he said, “That’s Cordy.”

Brona glanced at Angel. “Your lady friend with the gift of foresight?”

Angel hesitated, but instead of correcting her terminology, just said, “Yeah.” It was close enough.

Brona leaned over to inspect the photo more closely. “She is lovely also,” she said simply. “I see why you fancy her.”

“It’s not just that she’s gorgeous,” Angel said. Suddenly overcome with the need to do something instead of just wring his hands together, he pulled the box forward and started rifling through again purposefully, even though none of the pictures fully registered in his mind. “She helped give my life meaning at a time I was desperately trying to figure out my purpose.”

Brona turned to Angel again sharply and stared for an intense moment that Angel tried to ignore by sifting through more photos. “Judith and I were talking about meaning,” she said. “Specifically about how choices give us meaning.”

“Well, okay,” Angel half-shrugged. He couldn’t argue that point. Hadn’t that been his whole epiphany? That meaning comes from the choices you make? “Cordy herself didn’t give me meaning, but she was the open door for me. Her visions gave me the opportunity to choose between doing something important and nothing at all. She was the first one I chose to start a family with. Not like--” he gestured to the picture of her over the bassinet. “But taking in friends as family. She was the first. Getting to make important choices like that is liberating; it’s hard not to fall for someone who gives you freedom like that.” That was why he’d fallen for Buffy, too.

Angel paused, his eyes tracking over to the picture of Darla on the table. She had also given him a choice at first. A manipulative one, which took the rest of his choices away for 150 years… But in the end, they’d chosen Connor together.

“And now,” Angel went on, “she’s back, but not really offering the same doors again.” And it was confusing as hell. “She can’t be my Seer if I won’t be her Champion. She can’t be my family if she doesn’t live within the same realm of existence.”

“Is the meaning that you’ve created here not enough?” Brona asked. “You have family and purpose in others.”

“Yeah,” Angel said slowly. “I mean, I do. I guess I’m just not used to her being around and not pushing me to do even better. Be even more purposeful.”

And Angel was mostly glad for it. The amount of purpose he had right now was safe. It was a good amount of purpose. Big enough to feel good, little enough to blend with the other ripples in the pond.

“Do you still need someone to push you, then?” Brona asked.

Angel blinked. “Well… _No_ …” He started pawing through the pictures again.

After another long moment in which Brona studied the pictures on the table, she said, “You seem very happy in these.”

“I was,” Angel agreed. He pulled out another handful of pictures, sorting through them a little more intentionally. “Those were some of the happiest times of my life. And unhappiest. No matter what happens, I don’t think I can forgive the Powers That Be for their part in what happened not long after these pictures were taken.”

He stopped on a picture from several years later at Wolfram & Hart. They were in Angel’s dark office, all of them (even including Spike). In the foreground were Fred’s stockinged feet propped up on an ottoman, the edge of a whiskey glass just visible in the frame. The rest were scattered around, standing, sitting, Angel leaning on the edge of his desk, all holding their own glasses of whiskey.

That was the wake they’d held for Cordelia. They’d shared stories, toasted, cried a bit, and stayed together all night holding vigil for the light of their world passing - Angel had thought - forever. Cordy’s last action to him had even been to give him that light of choice permanently. She’d passed the visions on to him so that he could carry on her legacy. Champion and Seer in one. Free to be both, and free to choose the family he wanted, not the family he needed.

Angel blinked, staring at the photo. There was a light behind his head in the shot, illuminating the outline of his profile as he looked at Wesley, who was at the right edge of the frame, talking. Angel swallowed, nervously following the path of choice that he’d just seen.

“What’s this?” Brona asked softly, startling Angel a bit.

“Cordy’s wake,” he replied absently, still half following his train of thought.

“Her…?”

“Oh, she died,” Angel said. “I guess not really. But we thought she did. We had a wake.” He let out a breath, shaking slightly.

“Are you alright?”

Angel ran his free hand down his face, gripping at his chin. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I just realized something. Give me a minute.”

He dropped the handful of pictures onto the table, stood up, and went into the kitchen. He was hungry, that was it. The vampire equivalent of low blood sugar. Low stolen life. Hypovitalic. It made insane ideas seem plausible. Ideas of the Freedom of Choice kind of insanity. He got a packet of blood out of the fridge.

He’d been considering, facetiously, favors he could demand of the PTB, feeling a little bit of the glow of power at the idea that he might have some hold over them. For centuries, he’d been desperate to prove only that _they_ had no power over _him_.

But...they needed him, didn’t they? They needed his skills, his...abilities. Seers were supposed to pass on the visions to someone who would use them if they no longer could (like if they died), but Angel hadn’t. He hadn’t had anyone to pass them on to, no one he wanted to subject to the Powers’ authority. At the same time as Angel had been depriving the Powers a Champion for centuries, he’d been depriving them a Seer.

The vindictive part of him felt warm in that realization, even as the blood splashed cold in his stomach straight from the packet.

That was why Angel knew now more than ever that That Moment was inevitable; when Angel would need something desperately enough to say yes to joining the team again, and they would have him. They couldn’t let it slip mercifully by any more than he could let this opportunity slip by.

Could he?

Angel crumpled the empty plastic packet in his fist as he leaned over the sink to rinse his mouth out.

It would mean a change in principles. It would look like giving in. It _would_ be, in a sense. It would be giving into cowardice to take advantage of a situation for future protection. But the protection wasn’t just for himself, it was for everyone he cared about. And even though that part was giving into cowardice, there was the part that would require a leap of courage Angel hadn’t taken in two hundred years.

After all, if he was going to be a Seer for the Powers That Be, that meant stepping back into the fight all in. The Powers wouldn’t take him back on if he was going to grudgingly half-ass the job. And he needed them to take him back: the only way to keep them from taking advantage of That Moment when he couldn’t say no, was to already give them what they wanted now. This was the moment where _they_ couldn’t say no.

“What’s wrong?” Brona’s voice came from the kitchen doorway, and Angel looked back over his shoulder, still leaning against the sink. He realized he was breathing.

Angel swallowed. “I, uh--” He looked back down at his hands, his left one still gripping the bloody bag. He dropped it in the sink, the hard plastic nipple clattering on the ceramic. “Got hungry,” he finished. Angel wiped the water from his chin and then wiped that hand on his trousers. He turned around again.

Brona looked a bit frightened and confused at that, so Angel added, “I drink donated blood. Given freely to help others.”

Brona relaxed slightly. “I’ve never hear of the concept of donating blood, but I suppose that’s not the _most_ unbelievable thing…” She fixed him with a look that said that she knew his problems were _just_ that he was hungry. Which Angel was starting to believe himself, now that he was full for the moment and thinking a bit straighter (and feeling a bit braver, with the power of life in his veins again).

What was wrong, she’d asked?

“I think I know what my next choice is,” he said, swallowing.

* * *

While it might have been more logical to choose the graveyard that Brona was buried in to use to reverse the spell, it was really too small and surrounded by narrow houses for them to safely and secretly attempt it. It also would have been deeply weird, containing the graves of the rest of the villagers that Angel and Darla had murdered, as well.

They went to one of the larger cemeteries on the edge of town, where old trees would shield the light and noise. Calder and Jodie met them there, Jodie looking nervous, hunched under her backpack.

Angel spotted them coming from a distance and, though he and his mother had just spent the entire day together, was gripped with the feeling of wanting more time to say things, more time to tie loose threads, whatever those loose threads were. He turned his neck to look at her, pale and nervously clinging her hands together, and, compelled by the need to say anything, said, “Thank you.”

She looked over at him.

“It’s been--” Angel swallowed. Fun didn’t fit. Enlightening...fit, but sounded impersonal. Profound was closer to the mark, but a bit sappy, and left out the part that was something like happiness, although that wasn’t quite right, either. He shrugged. “Thank you.”

Brona nodded softly. “The same,” she said. She hesitated, expression looking like Angel felt, but for her part, she found the courage to add, “I think-- I shall be at peace.”

Suddenly overcome, Angel looked away quickly, but he nodded to show that...well, at least that he heard. He heard one of his most important victims tell him that her soul could be at rest, despite her murder, despite the suffering of her family, despite the fact that he was still a vampire. He heard his mother say that whatever disgust and resentment she held for him would not pass with her to the next life.

He heard that.

By the time Calder and Jodie reached them, Angel had bottled the emotions safely back up and was standing straight with cool authority. Jodie eyed him with a deeply satisfying apprehension and held back, letting Calder be the buffer between them.

“Well, Jodie,” Calder said, looking at Brona. “Come and meet your consequences.”

Angel suppressed a proud little smile.

Jodie looked over at Brona nervously, shifting her bag on her shoulder. “Hi,” she said, not quite meeting Brona’s eye.

“Hello,” Brona replied. “Are you the young witch, then?”

“Oh, no,” Jodie shook her head vigorously, and it was evident that her ponytail was caught under her backpack’s strap. She added quickly, “Ma’am.”

Angel leaned toward Brona and said, not trying to be quiet, “You’re not a proper witch until you can raise the _right_ person from the dead.”

“Ah, I see,” Brona replied, maintaining a cool stare at Jodie.

“Well,” Angel said, and picked up his duffle from the ground, handing it out to Calder.

Calder smirked as he took it. “This isn’t still filled with handcuffs, is it?”

Angel hit him in the arm.

“Handcuffs?” Jodie said nervously. “This needs handcuffs?”

Calder shook his head. “Nah, I’m just being an ass. Come on, we’ll set up over here.” He swung the bag over his shoulder and led Jodie over to a clearing nearby.

Angel half-sat against the closest headstone that was tall enough for him and settled in to watch. Brona came over to stand next to him.

“Do you think I’ll be tainted?” she asked softly, watching them create a pentacle in the grass with a dusting of flour.

“No,” Angel replied. “You’re a victim of magic. Not a willing participant. Victims are blameless.”

“One would hope,” Brona said.

Angel looked over at her. “Victims get blamed a lot here,” he said after a moment. “But in the afterlife it’s the perpetrators who bear the weight of it. For themselves _and_ their victim. I would know.”

Brona nodded and didn’t reply, although a tear fell onto her cheek. Angel nearly wiped it away for her before remembering he could’t. He turned back to watch the kids finish their pentacle.

The spell also required candles, including one big enough to light the robe with Angel’s blood on fire (to break the connection), which they set up on headstones and monuments nearby. Then they got out the spell book Jodie had used and Angel pointed out the words that would need to be changed to reverse it.

“It’s going to feel different,” Angel warned Jodie after she’d made the notations on her Palm. “Harnessing the energy of death is not the same as the energy of life. It’ll make you feel a little bit more free and a little bit more sick. Just ignore it and keep going; don’t break the rhythm.

Jodie swallowed and nodded. She turned slowly to look at Brona. “Are you ready?”

Brona pulled in a breath of resolve and said, “Yes. Where must I stand?”

“In the center,” Jodie replied, pointing.

Brona moved to stand in the center of the pentacle, and Angel moved to watch from a slightly closer vantage point, feeling oddly emotional. Judith would probably say that wasn’t odd at all: Brona was his mother. Family. Which was a fair point, but it was only yesterday he’d been thinking about how he’d rather let her stay at the church and do the reversal spell from afar. And while he didn’t know what he’d do with her - at _all_ \- if she stayed, there was a part of him that wasn’t quite ready to let go, either.

But then, who would be?

“Okay,” Jodie breathed, voice shaking a bit. “Everyone ready?”

Angel and Brona looked at each other and shared a glance that seemed to last forever and a fraction of a second at the same time. All at once, Angel felt the breadth of their relationship: her nurturing care, her exasperation, her worry, her judgment. He remembered her standing aside and watching his father try to verbally beat him into good behavior and he remembered her silently dabbing salve on his tender rear after a belting. As he looked into her eyes, he saw her hope for peace at last.

Brona nodded that she was ready.

“Go ahead,” Angel agreed quietly.

Angel was supposed to pay attention to how the kids were doing, performing this fairly tricky spell on their own. But all he remembered after that moment was their voices in the background, wind, a flash of fire, and his mother’s ghost disappearing for good.

* * *

Judith came home to find William and Guinevere in the middle of a game of chinese checkers. She joined them in the next round, and for so many rounds after that it was dinnertime before they realized how fast the afternoon had gone, and how pleasantly.

Although that morning had been challenging when Judith had slept in far past a decent waking hour to her mother’s mind, after her walk in the sun and breeze from Angel’s flat back home, Judith found that she felt oddly freed by her nighttime escape, even though it was from her own house and for not exactly pleasant reasons. The more she contemplated it, the more it reminded her that her mother had very little real influence on her life anymore, and whatever influence she held, it was because Judith allowed it. Opened herself to it. Agreed to a weekend visit, expected to fight it, and then went and fought it.

Sneaking out of the house for magic and mayhem at a vampire-fairy sex club was exactly the sort of adventure Judith _didn’t_ want to have to remind herself that she was, actually, a good daughter, if not perfect, and she wouldn’t have to fight the nitpicky comments if she actually didn’t fight them. Instead Judith started letting them roll off, like the marbles on the checkers board, and watched with new delight as her mother sputtered to find where they landed somewhere unexpected.

If she could keep that up, Judith thought she wouldn’t have minded sending William to help with the spell reversal, if Angel had asked.

They went out to eat in Uptown for Italian food, and on the way home, just after the sun had set, Judith suggested they stop by St. Mark’s. She was met with astonishment by her mother, and when she asked Judith why, Judith replied,

“I don’t think Brona Magann will be with us much longer. I would like to light a candle for her.”

**The End**


	16. Epilogue

Like Los Angeles, the conduit to the Powers That Be in Galway were under the main post office. Where else would a major hub of communication be located?

It was months later. It had taken that long for Angel to prepare; after Angel had realized his choice and explained it to Brona, he knew what his answer had to be. He’d committed, with the caveat that he would talk to Connor first. It only seemed right. Connor didn’t remember what happened anymore, but Angel had committed to Connor first. If he had shown any shred of betrayal at the idea, Angel would have dropped it.

Mostly, Connor wanted Angel to tell him about the foot curse again.

The preparations were so that Angel could take advantage of the time he had. Usually, when things like this came along, it was an Act Now While Supplies Last kind of deal. Angel usually did pretty well in those kind of situations, but this time he made himself slow down. Consider all angles, all ramifications. Consider whether his commitment was to the cause or to his family (definitely his family, but now his family included the cause - and he was surprisingly okay with that). Consider what demands he might be able to include in his offer; what loopholes he should close (or keep open).

He and Brona had started a list of these, filling in their daylight hours until they could go see Connor one last time before heading to the cemetery. She had had some insights that surprised Angel until he remembered that she’d helped his father in the administration of his trading business and been active in the underground movement to keep Catholicism alive. She knew how to think subversively in negotiations.

Angel groomed the list over the next several months, and even told Judith about it a few days before he’d decided he would do it. She was his last check; his last screening test for morality and motivation, his last set of sharp eyes for the contract he’d drawn himself.

“Have you told the boys?” she asked softly, her eyes scanning the papers on the table in front of her again.

“No,” Angel replied, leaning on crossed arms on the table. They were at the Dragon’s Crown in that lull during the switchover from human to demon patrons. They both had drinks, but were sitting off to the side, mostly untouched. “They’re not part of this decision.”

“Am I?” Judith looked up, surprised.

“Well…” Angel tilted his head. “If you thought it was a terrible idea, I’d rethink everything.”

The corners of Judith’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “I didn’t know you thought that much of my opinion.”

“Of course I do,” Angel replied, shrugging even with all his weight on his elbows. “You overthink ethical consequences. I’m still waiting for you to say that doing this will make the deaths of those people I didn’t save in order to prove I’d never work for the Powers again meaningless and I owe it to them to keep to those principles.”

Judith huffed out a little exhale, eyebrows quirking. “Well, I don’t think that’s untrue… But you forget that my son’s involvement in this clouds my judgment. I can’t be entirely objective.”

“But you can be more objective than me,” Angel replied. “If William called you right now and said he was out, what would you say to me?”

Judith looked back down at the papers for a moment, thinking. After a moment, she said, “I would say that it’s alright to abandon old principles for new ones if they’re an improvement. Change is necessary for growth, after all.”

“Is this a good change, though?” Angel asked. “Is ‘I’ll work for you so you can’t screw with me in the future’ a better principle?”

“No,” Judith replied. “But to hear you describe the idea, that’s not the only reason you’re considering this, right?”

Angel nodded. “Right,” he said softly. That had become more clear to him over the course of the past several months. Reflecting on the last decade, he realized just how much richer his life had become since taking the boys under his wing. As he’d brooded in the darkness of his flat, voices from the past had seemed to rise up to the surface: Buffy, Whistler, Doyle, Cordy, all reminding him why the neverending fight is worth it, reminding him that even one life changed made all the difference in the world. Hadn’t William shown him that, when Angel had saved him because it was convenient and he’d been looking for a fight anyway? Hadn’t saving that one little life changed Angel’s entire world?

“Do you think you’re ready?” Judith asked quietly.

Angel nodded again, feeling both the terror and the solidity of that conviction. “I’ve never really been one to half-ass things,” he said. “Having to work that Cinderella case as a side member with the boys made me realize I’ve been half-assing being part of Team Good for a long time. It was kind of a sour pill to swallow.”

Judith’s mouth twitched in a smile. “I think you mean ‘bitter’ pill to swallow.”

“No,” Angel shook his head. “It was definitely more sour.”

Judith chuckled lightly and relented. “In that case,” she said, carefully sliding the papers together again, “I think the people you will be able to save outweigh the broken promise to the ones you didn’t. But if I change my mind due to my overthinking of ethical consequences, how long to do I have to tell you?” There was a sparkle of humor in her eye.

“William’s birthday,” Angel replied. “It’s his 18th. I don’t know when the Powers were planning on officially instating them, but as soon as they do they’ll have to send them a Seer.” He shrugged. “18 seems significant.”

“That doesn’t give me much time to overthink,” Judith told him.

“That’s kind of the hope,” Angel replied, smiling a little. “I was also hoping you could help me think of any loopholes I missed.”

Judith took an extra second to smile back at him. Then she reached over for her drink, said, “Let’s see, then,” and took a sip as she started reading the document again.

* * *

Underneath the post office, Angel murmured the words of enchantment as he tossed a pinch of power into the bowl, feeling like he always used to before a big battle. Like if he came out alive, he knew he wouldn’t be the same person. Which was entirely true. But he also knew that if he turned around and went back, he would never be satisfied with his old life. He _couldn’t_ go back. He couldn’t _un-_ realize all that he had realized.

Light flashed and the door opened and Angel took a breath, pulling in his courage. In one hand he held a gift for the Oracle on the other side (a bunch of ripe, yellow bananas - he’d heard the oracle preferred the form of chimpanzees - although he also carried a bag of precious stones in his pocket in case his information was false).

In the other hand he held a sheaf of documents outlining all the conditions under which Angel would agree to become a Powers That Be Seer (which included painless visions and a salary, as Cordy’s voice in his head almost immediately demanded). His agreement to receive visions on behalf of Champions Calder Lauchley and William Cole, and to relay those visions promptly. Angel had even included a section stating his good will: that while he would not be under contract, he would remain a Seer even after Calder and William’s eventual deaths, so long as it still seemed like the right thing to do.

Angel’s fingers tightened, thinking about that phrase. _The right thing to do_.

Angel swallowed. Softly, he said, “Happy birthday, William,” and stepped through the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Leave a comment telling me what you thought or a kudos telling me you thought it was worth reading to the end. :-)
> 
> And yep, there'll be plenty more to come...


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